Town Clown Killer
by Awhoha
Summary: John/Sherlock have to solve a case in which a serial killer dresses his victims in clown outfits. SLASH. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

The sudden screeching of strings echoed throughout the house. Eyes flashing open, the man nearly fell out of the disheveled sheets and onto the cold floorboards below. Cursing, the man disentangled himself from the bed, glancing at the alarm clock that lay on the oak table. The green light looked eerie as it spread out across the darkened bedroom. The numbers blinked 5_:30_ up at the man's dark eyes. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the slight stubble growing on his cheeks and chin.

_Damn Sherlock and his blasted violin! _John Watson quickly threw on his slippers, not wanting to walk on the cold floor and hastily made his way to his flatmates room. The sharp high notes of the violin continued with vigorous force until coming to a dramatic halt, just as John was about to pound his fist on the door in front of him. The door opened suddenly. John found himself looking into the gray-blueish eyes of Sherlock Holmes. The dark curly hair tumbled wildly around the face, which at the moment looked a bit put off.

"Ah John. You came at precisely the right moment. It seems that I am in need of your assistance." John stared at the man in utter amazement and anger. But before he could open his mouth Sherlock pointed at the instrument that was resting on his shoulder. John noticed that some of Sherlock's dark hair had some how managed to get tangled in the strings of the violin.

"I could not sleep and without a case at the present, I turned towards my music to ease the boredom. You know how it is, hardly anything to do. "

_If you can call that music_ John thought as he watched Sherlock motion him into the room with the hand which still held the bow.

" Sherlock. Its_ 5:30 in the morning_, its still dark out and..." John groaned as he reluctantly made his way inside, his anger slowly dissolving. He could never stay angry at Sherlock for long, even though the man was insufferable. The room was dark except for the warm glow of the lamp near the bedside. The room smelled of strange chemical concoctions, old leather books, and the faint smell of sandalwood. John followed the tall pale man to a chair located under the window. Sherlock sat down and slightly tugged at his entrapped hair.

"You need to to enjoy the mornings more John, instead of laying in your bed and dreaming about whatever it is you dream about...rubbish probably. Normal people are always dreaming of such uneventful things and besides 5:30 is a perfect time to start your day. Scissors are on the drawer over there." John had started rummaging through old papers, bottles and quills trying to find something to help this unbelievable person. Out of the corner of his eye, John found the pair of golden ornate scissors peeking out from under a large, hand bound book.

"I rather like sleeping in and dreaming of '_rubbish_'. You on the other hand get up far too early. Where did you manage to get these?" John questioned as he stood beside the locks of curls that desperately needed to be freed. The scissors gleamed in contrast with the man's dark hair as the warm light reflected off of them. They were a pair of solid gold scissors. What were they doing with Sherlock?

"I received them when I solved a double murder regarding a museum and an old rich family. Oh that case was ever so thrilling. All the intrigue, the brilliance of it all and the..oww! Don't pull with so much force John.. you don't want to damage anything!"

John had taken the pieces of hair in his hand and had tried to lift the trapped ends so he could have a better angle at which to cut . Unfortunately he pulled too hard causing Sherlock's sentence to come to an abrupt end. John quickly, but accurately cut the entangled curls. With a snip both Sherlock and violin were freed. John placed the scissors down as Sherlock rose from the chair, placing the violin in a corner. John peered out the darkened window and noticed it had started snowing.

"Next time please do not try and wake me for something like this again," sighed John as he turned his attention to the man walking over to the bathroom mirror. However he knew that somewhere in the future, the _near future_ Sherlock would find some way in which to disrupt his routine. Sleep tugging at his mind, John turned towards the exit.

"John."

"Hmm..."

"You don't know anything about hair cutting do you?"

"I am not a hairdresser. I am a Doctor!"

"That you are, a Doctor defiantly but not a hairdresser. You have cut off too much hair!"

John turned around and saw Sherlock glaring at him from underneath his locks, a slight frown covering his features. It was then that he noticed that the other mans hair was now shorter, a bit too short on one side.

"You need a hair cut anyways," John remarked, pointing at Sherlock's mess of curls. Sherlock turned back to look at himself in the mirror. His hair had indeed grown too long to his liking. Sherlock turned back to the man but John had already escaped back to his own room. Sherlock raised slender fingers to the shorter side of his locks. His neck was warm where John had briefly touched. He allowed a small smile to slip across his lips. As John slipped back into his bed, he shook his head. Sherlock was the most infuriating, interesting person he had ever met. He quickly glanced over towards the cloack. 6:00. Groaning, John rolled onto his side and let sleep over take him even if it was only for a few more hours.

The coldness still lingered throughout 221B as winter's icy hand retreated from the warmth of the fireplace. Sherlock straightened the buttons on the woolen jacket, trying to replenish the warmth that he had lost throughout the night. His eyes stared into the hearth, firelight dancing hand in hand with the cold and calculating gray-blue. The buttons finaly done up, his slender pale hands steeped and rested underneath his chin. It was 9:00 am. Footsteps creaked above, signaling the awakening of John Watson. Sherlock let out a small sigh as Mrs. Hudson entered the room with her squeaky slippers shaped in the form of fluffy white rabbits.

"Sherlock are you ready? You let your hair grow quite long this time haven't you dear? I used to fix up my husband's hair you know, before my hip. Besides your hair looks a bit odd this morning."

"_Yes_ Mrs. Hudson. Please if you will, I feel a draft on the left side."

Mrs. Hudson in her dark purple woolen dress went off to grab a pair of cutting scissors, her fluffy rabbit slippers squeaking after her. Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Why on earth did John have to give those to the landlady?_ he thought as he continued to gaze into the flames of the small fireplace. He never had given a gift to anyone, nor did he ever see the reasoning behind it. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind he heard the sound of the annoying rabbits returning.

"Here we are Sherlock. I found my old pair of cutting scissors. They were a present from my husband. He always liked it when he got his hair trimmed." Mrs. Hudson twittered as she placed a towel over Sherlock's coat. Sherlock folded his hands in his lap, allowing the landlady to begin her attack on his overly grown mass of curls. He could hear the shower being turned on upstairs. John always took so long to get himself ready. He tore his eyes away from the fire to glance quickly at the clock. 9:05. Sherlock began counting down, wiggling his bare toes in front of the spirited fire. The_ snip snip_ of 's scissors, her blabbering, the crackle of the hearth, and the sound of the shower was causing Sherlock's mind to wither with boredom. He needed a case, a murder to solve. He needed to play the game. He hadn't had one in over two weeks. Two weeks! It felt more like 2 years, not that Sherlock thought he could live that long without having something _fun_ to solve.

"All done dear. You can see your handsome face now."

"My face was already handsome . Now if you please I need to focus."

The land lady took off the towel covered with hair clippings and left with her dreadful rabbit feet.

" I need to do something about those horrid slippers," murmured Holmes as he again allowed his gray eyes to look towards the grandfather clock hanging on the wall. Sherlock began tapping his fingers along the chair arms. 3...2...1 and...

"John I would like a coffee, black with 2 sugars if you will."

John Watson had barely stepped into the now heated living room when he was thrown an order from his flatmate. Sherlock took in the creme sweater, the red buttoned shirt underneath, and the black pants that the Doctor was wearing. Not wanting to stare too long, Sherlock turned back towards the warmth of the fire, his cheeks glowing slightly. John shot a glare at the back of Sherlock's head and noticed that his hair was now back to his normal style.

"Had a haircut then Sherlock?" John asked as he made his way into the kitchen. The table was littered with bottles, books, and various equipment. He rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and found the coffee and tea.

"Pour my coffee into the black cup, the one with the gold rim. Don't forget to add the two sugars John, and hold off on the cream. A couple of biscuits would be brilliant. The cheese ones on the top shelf with a touch of butter, but make sure you roll the butter into two small swirls for each biscuit and not just spred it about." Sherlock clicked his tongue and John knew that he had also just winked. John exhaled sharply, took out a butter knife, and carefully created two butter swirls. He placed them on the biscuits and stared on the coffee and tea.

"Oh good morning. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

Mrs. Hudson had appeared in the kitchen her eyes twinkling.

"I believe I tried to get the most out of it," John replied, thinking back on the horrible screeching of the violin. If it wasn't the violin, it was sometimes the sound of gunshots, or some type of experiment gone wrong or just waking up to Sherlock watching him sleep.

"John I don't like to be kept _waiting_. Were is my coffee?" Sherlock shouted from his chair in the living room.

"I thought he didn't want any," the landlady remarked as she peered into the living room.

"_What_?"exclaimed John, stopping short of pouring the coffee into Sherlock's favorite teacup.

"Well dear, I asked him if he wanted something while I finished his hair but he said he didn't require anything."

"But he just said.."

John turned abruptly and went into the living room. and her fluffy, white rabbit slippers quickly left fearing another domestic between her two tenants.

"John, finally. It takes the average person to brew coffee in five minutes. I have waited for ten minutes. What filter did you use exactly? A flat drip, a cone drip, or a gold mesh? I do hoped you used the gold mesh. The taste is brighter, livelier, and far more extraordinary. Come now, why the long face?" John had a large scowl plastered on his face. His sandy blond hair and dark eyes were eliminated by the firelight, giving him a more intimidating appearance. Sherlock however stared at him without any indication of any emotion.

"I was busy in the kitchen getting your coffee," retorted John, his muscles in his neck moving. He held up a hand before Sherlock could open his mouth to speak, " when you shouted about your coffee. I was in the middle of talking to when she stated that you did not need anything. Please explain." Sherlock continued to stare at his flatmate. John could have sworn there was now a spark in the taller man's eyes.

"My dear Doctor, at the time while was fixing my hair, I did not find the need to drink anything. Exactly, precisely as Mrs. Hudson left the room, I had the urge. Her rabbit slippers threw off the mood for anything edible. It just so happened that you had walked down into the living room at that exact moment in time," explained Sherlock, his eyebrow rising slightly, " or are you, John, accusing me of waiting for the _exact_ moment , counting down the _seconds_ until you would arrive down and then order you to get my morning coffee?"

John stared at Sherlock and ran a hand over his bed tussled hair.

"You know what? I believe you did exactly that."

Sherlock smiled and got out of the chair that he had pulled over to the front of the red brick fireplace. He wore his woolen black coat, a pair of loose fitting blue house pants, and had his feet bare. Sherlock stepped on and over the table as he walked towards John, giving him a smirk as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Now where is my coffee?"

"Will you please stop?" protested John. Both men were sitting in the living room. John was trying to finish what little writing he had left to do on his blog while Sherlock was again playing his violin. This time it was leaning against his chest with Sherlock's fingers plucking at the strings.

"No."

John clicked his laptop shut and rubbed his eyes. He did not have a good rest and then had to make breakfast _again_ without any help. However, living with Sherlock, there was never a dull moment. _Ever_.

"Why are you still wearing your coat? The temperature is just fine now." John mumbled. Sherlock just looked sideways at him, his fingers still pulling at the white strings. A phone rang mixing in with the strangled music that filled the room.

"Answer the phone John."

John looked at the man who was lying on the couch.

"Why can't you get it?"

"I am trying to concentrate on keeping my brilliant mind focused."

John muttered curse words as he began to rise from his chair. Placing his laptop on the desk he tried to find the location of the ringing.

"John, my pocket."

John could not believe his flatmate. _Not again_ he thought. Still muttering under his breath he strode over to the couch where Sherlock lay. He reached into the top left jacket pocket feeling Sherlock's eyes boring into him.

"The other pocket, John."

John took out his hand and reached for the right side. He slipped out the ringing phone and opened it.

"John Watson," he answered his eyes staring at the wallpaper. He could still see the bullet holes that Sherlock had made the week before, " Yes this is John. Yes. Yes he is in."

Sherlock abruptly stopped playing and went still, his eyes narrowing. John passed over the cellphone to Sherlock and noticed that his slender hands were shaking ever so slightly.

"Sherlock Holmes," the pale man replied. After a few moments of silence, a large smile broke out on Sherlock's face.

"I will be right over. Text me the address."

John looked at Sherlock and knew that a new case had just come up, and by the expression on his colleagues face, it was a big one. Sherlock slid the phone shut and jumped up onto the leather couch, knocking over a few old books in his excitement.

"Finally! This is just brilliant. The elation, the thrill! The game is on!" shouted Sherlock as he bounded off the couch, over the table and up the stairs, "John, get dressed, we have a murder to solve!"

John chuckled as he followed suite. He hadn't seen his flatmate look this alive for weeks. Pulling a jacket over his creme sweater and grabbing a scarf from his closet, the doctor prepared himself for the cold weather.


	2. Chapter 2

Their breathes created white tendrils throughout the frigid air. The snow was dancing down leaving a blanket of snow all over London. The sound of the crunching snow, the bustling traffic, and the smells of the city all mingled together. Both men stood outside trying to catch a taxi. In this weather, it was hard to find a cabbie that was free.

"TAXI!"

Sherlock had stepped out onto the street with his hand raised. The taxi in front of him had to slam on his brakes, which screeched across the slippery pavement. The black cabbie skidded inches from where Sherlock stood, the driver cursing. The driver stuck his head the window, his face red from a mixture of anger and cold wind.

"Look here! I have a schedule to keep and I don't need some crazy man causing me to have an accident!" the man shouted, his face become redder with every word. Sherlock slipped his gloved hands into his pocket with a flourish and pulled out the police badge.

"Police. Drive me to Hornsferd Street and be quick about it. I don't have a lot of time."

Sherlock practically shoved the badge in the cabbie drivers face while looking in through the window. A women sat staring in the back her eyes very wide. Sherlock retracted the badge as quickly as he had taken it out, grabbed the handle of the door and flung it wide open. He grasped the shocked ladies arm and practically dragged her out of the taxi.

"John, her bags." Sherlock ordered. Turning to look at the women, her face still an expression of shock, Sherlock spoke in a very fast ramble.

"The hotel you are looking for is just three streets down, make a left at the light, go straight a block, turn right at Waterman's Deli go another three streets and you will find yourself at the Harlingtion Hotel as it is the only hotel anywhere near a ten block radius. John place the woman's belongings here," Sherlock ranted, clearly frustrated. Whirling upon the now maroon faced cabbi driver Sherlock locked him in a gray-blue glare.

"I am not some crazy man, I am the world's only consulting detective in which the police go to when they are completely out of their depth and that time is now, so I do not want to waste time sitting here chatting about utterly useless topics."

The cabbie driver shrunk under the intensive glare and muttered some incoherent words. Seeming satisfied the world's only consulting detective hastily got into the black taxi clicking his tongue impatiently as John hurriedly gave the women an apology, before getting into the taxi. The taxi speed off into the traffic, leaving the lady watching them with a most mortified look frozen on her face.

"Sherlock."

"Yes John."

"How did you know where that woman was going?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his fingers tapping the window sill of the cabbie.

"The pamphlet in her left hand was from Harlingtion Hotel which was both a map and a guide. The taxi was taking her on this specific route, which clearly marks that that women was on her way there. She had just gone out shopping judging from all the bags she had, clearly not from around here. The large diamond ring on her right hand indicated that she had money but she wore it on, not her left ring finger, but on the right. Visiting a lover perhaps. Her hair smelled of lavender and hibiscus shampoo which the Hotel is known for providing so she must have already been there. She was on her way back from doing it is whatever women do, shopping for useless possessions. The lady has the pamphlet and my instructions so she will make it back without any trouble."

"Brilliant as always," smiled John. He never got tired of hearing how Sherlock managed to grasp every detail from a person with just a short glance, " but I still think it was extremely rude of us to drag her out of the taxi while it is snowing and..."

"John I have no time for politeness nor do I care. I have a murder case to solve after weeks of waiting. I thought my brain would rot. The fluffy white rabbit slippers did not help and are an utter distraction and complete pain in my life." Sherlock frowned at his colleague, his eyes burning bright. John felt his face grow warm. Why did his face have to get warm?

"I just thought that they would be a nice present for . It was her birthday and I thought I should get her something she could use. Besides she mentioned she liked rabbits...and..." John broke off laughing at the look on the detectives face.

"You should have used your brain John, you could have gotten her more of that herbal soother. Maybe wrapped it in rabbit wrapping paper but instead you got her those terrible rabbit slippers?" Sherlock had a very shocked and angry expression written over his features. Still laughing John watched as Sherlock gave him one last look before turning to his cellphone. John turned his attention towards the falling snow and lost himself in his thoughts, still chuckling.

"Here is the amount we owe. Again I apologize for his behavior," John murmured to the cabbi driver. The man reached out a chubby hand, not taking his eyes off the snow. John sighed. Sherlock had really scared the man if he wasn't even going to count the notes or even take his eye off the road in front of him.

"Hurry up John. I do not have all day!"

John winced slightly as the black taxi returned back into the traffic. Sherlock noticed with satisfaction that the taxi sped off very quickly, trying to put as much distance between the two men as he could. Sherlock tightened the gloves around his fingers as John hastened to catch up with the detective. Sherlock sped off with amazing speed towards the crime scene. Hornsferd Street. It wasn't a very spectacular part of the city. The buildings were worn but not old. Graffiti decorated walls, tall leafless trees stood high on the edges of the sidewalk, and some neighborhood dogs barked in the distance. Sherlock sniffled. John glanced at him. The detectives eyes gleamed as he scanned his surroundings while hurrying forward to a white-washed house overlooking the road. It had a small yard with an iron fence that stood strong against intruders. The only thing that looked out of place in this neighborhood were the police cars and the yellow tape.

The two men hurried towards the entrance where Inspector Lestrade stood waiting.

"It's a good thing your here." Lestrade grimaced. His brown eyes looked tired as he motioned the men inside. The house was relatively empty, except for a few odds and ends. The paint was chipping of the walls, there was a bright dusty red sofa lying near the window, and scattered around were children's books. Sherlock smirked as he followed Lestrade up a long flight of winding stairs. As they neared the master bedroom Sherlock smiled.

Lying face up on the floor was a man wearing a clown costume. His face was painted entirely white except for the black outlining his green eyes and lips that were stained black. His costume was most peculiar. The man wore skin-tight black and white stripped pants with a white button up shirt. He wore a black and white stripped vest like jacket over top. The sleeves were created into ripples of fabric that covered the hands all the way to the fingertips. He wore long pointed black shoes and black and white stripped stockings. The most frighting thing was that he had the number 1 etched into his forehead.

"We don't know what to make of it," Lestrade stated as he watched Sherlock practically jump towards the body, ripping the gloves from his hands, "We have had plenty of weird deaths, but a clown in the middle of an abandoned house?"

Sherlock pulled out his tiny magnifying glass and bent down on one knee to examine the body. He moved his slender hand up and around, pausing and pulling up the sleeves of the dead man, revealing his hands. Dropping the sleeves the detective continued on with his search. He motioned John to examine the body as he cleared his throat.

"We can presume the man is around twenty-five to thirty years of age according to his teeth and bone structure," Sherlock stated as he squinted to get a better look at the man's neck, " who liked to exercise judging by the muscles of the chest, arms, and legs. He took care of his appearance; groomed eyebrows, clean-shaven skin, groomed nails. He is however not a clown."

"What?"shouted both John and Lestrade. To them the dead man sure resembled a clown lying on the floor.

"You never really truly look do you. It must be so boring," Sherlock tutted as he raised his eyebrow. "The man is of course dressed as a clown; the clothing , the make-up, odd as it is. But the way the make-up has been applied...it is too perfect. The angles on the strokes...it is as if someone had painted it on after he had died for the make-up still has not completely dried." Sherlock rubbed his fingers together, the sticky paste staining his fingertips.

"The man is wearing a watch, a Rolex to be precise, solid gold. I am surprised no one ever noticed. There are slight marks around the victims wrists, handcuffs...no to raw for that...probably a hard rope. He was help captive for around eight to twelve hours, give or take a few. He is wearing a wedding ring on his left hand, platinum with a single large diamond, a bit too tight for his ring finger. Money and lots of it, a business man no doubt, engadged or married, poor soul though his wife or partner is not from around here. He takes of his ring regularly, hence the slight bruising of the ring finger. Maybe gets around while the wife's away. But why the clown suit..." Sherlock paused to catch his breath.

"What have you found out Doctor Watson?" questioned Lestrade as he tore his gaze from the slightly out of breathe Sherlock Holmes. John was frowning as he got back up from the floor.

"It appears the man died of a heart attack."

"Well of course he did, John!" remarked Holmes as he straightened himself up. " The man died of Arrhythmia."

"Come again?" the Inspector asked, now confused even more by the flow of events. Sherlock nodded at John wanting him to explain.

"Arrhythmia is fatal abnormal heart rhythms which is caused by..."

"Hyperkalemia" Sherlock interrupted, " concentration of the electrolyte potassium in the blood which was elevated due to poison, most likely potassium chloride also known as KCI."

"Yes, what he said," replied Watson. He shrugged as Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock always needed the last word.

"Potassium chloride stops the heart by eliminating the cell potential necessary for muscle contraction. You can see on the neck a small pin prick created through an intravenous injection. A lethal dosage was given to our victim causing hyperkalemia which then led to arrhythmia, which led to him being dead." Both eyes were on Sherlock as he licked a finger.

"Yes it most defiantly was potassium chloride. There is that bitter, unsalted taste around the victims lips, and the odor..."

"You did not just touch a dead man's mouth and then _lick_ your finger?" Inspector Lestrade looked absolutely horrified.

"Of course I did. I had to indeed verify that that exact poison had been used."

Getting his cellphone out of his pocket Sherlock began typing, his fingers flashing over the keyboard with lightning quick speed. A few moments later his eyes widened. John knew what that face meant.

"I think I know how to find out who our dead man is...By my grandmother's socks, why did I not notice this sooner!" Without another word Sherlock pocketed his cellphone and raced out of the room yelling for John to follow. John apologized to the now confused, frustrated, and bewildered Inspector and told him they would be in touch.

As soon as they were shielded from the snow inside of a warm taxi, John looked at Sherlock who was tapping his steepled fingers together.

"Will you tell me what is going on?" John questioned, blowing on his fingers to try and warm them further. The taxi was warm but not enough to unfreeze his hands. He had forgotten to wear gloves.

Sherlock glanced at John's hands. He took his gloves off with a flourish and handed them to his flatmate. John, surprised took the gloves as Sherlock began to explain why the had rushed out of the crime scene, hailed down a cab and sped off back onto the slippery roads of London.

"I searched on my phone if there was any disappearances of any high class business men who had gone missing with the six to twenty-four hour mark. I searched every available source. Nothing. But then it hit me. The rings John, the diamond rings!"

"What about the rings?"

"John the diamonds! The lady from earlier, the one who let us have the taxi! The one who was on her way to the Hotel!"

_I don't think she wanted to let us have the taxi, you practically threw her out onto the street_ thought John, "But it could have been any diamond. People wear diamonds if their married, are engadged or have a lover."

"Ah but John, it is a particular diamond. They both were 24 karat gold in-layed with a 2.54 emerald cut, measurement of 9.15 x 6.53 x 4.33 mm and well worth over $ 42,000. Then there was the scent. The lavender hibiscus shampoo. The hairspray in which the killer applied almost completely covered over the smell. Our victim must be engadged to the lady who we met just a few hours ago. Step on it driver!" Sherlock shouted at the cabbie driver so suddenly that the taxi swerved a bit too close to the side of the road for John's liking.

"Brilliant. Your absolutely brilliant." He breathed. Sherlock's eyes turned to stare into John's.

"I will shut up now," said John, turning his head out towards the window.

"No, its quite alright, more than alright in fact," murmured Sherlock. He saw John ears redden slightly. No one except John ever called him brilliant, it was always _freak_. John was always calling him brilliant, every time he figured out anything. Sherlock allow a ghost of a smile to cross his lips. He liked it, no he enjoyed it more than anything... well besides his games of course.

A large iron gate led the way to a long courtyard where several taxis were parked awaiting guests. The building stood proud, dwarfing all the local shops around. The stone was pale gray hiding white speckles, ornate carvings decorated the large front pillars, and massive windows outlined with black steel finished off the grandeur of the Hotel. Though the shrubs and trees were bare, this did not diminish the breathtaking beauty of the luxurious Harlington Hotel. The cabbie driver pulled up in front of the great doors. As the two men filed out, Sherlock spotted an attendant coming out from the entrance.

"You there! I need to know if a lady wearing a violet parachute silk knot drape dress, a white fur coat and a fossil-gray handbag came through here about two and a half hours ago?"

"What's this in regards to the Lady Evelyn?" asked the man, his eyes darting back and forth between the Doctor and the detective.

"This is a matter of utmost importance. We are the police, under Inspector Lestrade, I command you to take me to see this women!" Sherlock pronounced, giving the man his most deadly glare as he produced the police badge with a flick of his wrist.

The man nodded frantically and hurried inside. The Hotel was truly a sight to behold. The foyer was a massive space covered in high carved pillars, crystal chandeliers, and costly artwork. Large stair cases were full of people trying to get to or from their rooms. The man bounded up the brown and beige carpeted staircase. John and Sherlock followed the attendant up towards the elevator and too the room 505.

"The Lady Evelyn is inside, she isn't in a good mood at the moment," squeaked the man as Sherlock turned to open the door. It was locked.

"This is the police, I need to ask you about your lover!" Sherlock shouted as he pounded his bare hands on the ebony door.

There was silence for a few moments, but then the door flew open and a very flush, beautiful woman appeared in the entrance way. Her eyes were almost a lavender blue, her lips were full and she had high and gorgeous cheek bones. Her white-blond hair hung loose in a wavy tangle.

"Vhat is it dat you vhant?" the Lady Evelyn asked her voice delicate with a hint of subtle anger.

"I am here regarding the man who you are currently seeing," Sherlock said, staring past her as he stepped into the room. The woman's arm shot up to block the way, but the detective pushed right on past, entering the guest room. "Kak vazza vut?" the women said, her gaze following Sherlock's every move.

"What did she say John?" asked Sherlock as his eyes swept the entire area.

" I don't speak Russian Sherlock."

"Oh come now, you went to the Middle East, you must know something."

"I was in Afghanistan, not Russia."

"I asked vhat vas your name!" shouted the woman, " Your dat very rude svinya dat threw me out into the icy veather!"

"My name is not important, but what _is_ important Evelyn is that you need to tell us about your husband." Sherlock stated as he walked over to the bed and sat down, " Besides the weather is not that bad at all. It could be worse. We could have had a blizzard, the electricity gone, no hot water, or even worse no _transportation_ at all. Would you mind telling me what svinya means, is sounds so lovely. Oh never mind I can look at it right now..." Sherlock flipped open his phone, typed and in a few moments he had a small frown on his face.

"Supposedly I am a pig," he muttered raising an eyebrow.

"Would you mind, please Lady Evelyn, if we could ask you a few questions?" asked John as he stood, still waiting by the door.

The women turned towards him, her eyes scanning. John felt his face heat up. Suddenly she nodded and motioned for him to sit. John pulled up a chair from the table and sat down next to the bed, where Sherlock was still frowning, offended at being called a pig.

"We would like to know if anything is wrong or out of the ordinary with your lover?" John questioned as he folded his gloved hands over his lap.

"James? No just zhe usual. He vas going to meet me here about an hour ago, but he must have gotten caught up in his vork."

"What is Jame's occupation, what company does he run?" Sherlock asked folding his feet up onto the bed. Evelyn's eyes narrowed.

"James is a very high banker, ze best in London. His father owns the Malkli National Bank. But why are you asking me theze questions?"

"James Malkli is five foot nine, green eyes with a hint of gold, black hair mid-length, strong well built muscular body, gold Rolex watch, matching diamond ring, a banker to his father's company, the best in London, correct?" Sherlock looked at the woman for a reaction.

"Yes, dat is him. Why must you ask if you already know?" Evelyn eyes shot daggers in Sherlock's direction. John felt good not to be in his flatmates shoes right now. The woman looked positively frightening.

"Your husband is dead, murdered in fact."

Lady Evelyn's eyes went from being narrowed to large tear filled orbs of lavender blue. She put her hands up to her trembling lips. She sank to the floor and began to sob. John raced out of his chair to go and help the crying woman. Sherlock observed the scene with a glint in his eye. He watched as John put his arms around Evelyn and help her to a chair. Sherlock felt the muscles in his neck tighten just seeing John's hands around the weeping lady.

"Sherlock, how could you? You didn't have to put it so bluntly," John said in an angry tone. Sometimes he could not understand how Sherlock could be so careless of peoples emotions. Sherlock said nothing but left the room not wanting to hear the sounds of a sobbing woman.


	3. Chapter 3

Dark. Gloomy. Mournful. The room was tiny and smelled of rank musky mold. The only light was a flickering bulb overhead which enticed a few straggly mosquitoes. The only sounds in the enclosed space was the buzzing of the angry insects accompanied by the sobbing of a hooded figure. A thin man sat tied to a white chair, a sack over his head. Fresh blood was seeping through the cloth, dripping onto his dark suit. Cuts etched into his arms oozed blood, which tried to push itself over the dried and encrusted layers of flesh. He tried to struggle, renewing his efforts when he heard the twist of the door knob. The door groaned open, it's hinges squeaking like an old man's bones. The man's crying grew louder as the intruder's footsteps echoed throughout his prison.

"Hush...Hush...Hush..Everything is going to be fine."

The man shivered as a gloved hand ran across his arm. Softly, gently it ran up and down. Suddenly the gloved hand smacked across the hooded face, causing the man's head to snap to the side. The man screamed.

"Don't worry about a thing. I am going to take care of you...I will love you...I will cherish you...so please don't make a sound." The voice was like smooth like silk, but it hide a venom so deep that the man shut his mouth, allowing small whimpers to escape.

A small _ting_ echoed throughout the stale air. The gloved hand flicked a syringe between fingers, turning towards the man's exposed neck.

"Relax, my sweet, this will only last a moment." The needle point pierced the skin. The man shuddered, feeling the cold, tenuous tip dive into his flesh. Seconds later the needle was removed.

"Now...your suffering will end. Sweet dreams Mr. Spires..."

The man abandoning all thought, screamed. It bounced off the peeling walls, echoing in his mind, tearing at him, eating him from the inside. His heart began to accelerate. Faster and faster. He could feel his eyes popping, his chest burning, his body trying to fight. The killer stood and watched, never looking away from the man tied in front. A smile so jubilant and gleeful rose on the killer's face as the man, writhing in pain finally let Death take him by the hand. The killer stood there waiting...and then walked over to a large table. Cold steel knives lay on a white cloth stained with blood. Various jars filled with cremes, make-up and other items of decoration littered the wooden table. The killer picked up a small thin blade, running hands over the steel, feeling and testing the weight. Satisfied the murderer stalked towards the dead Mr. Spires.

"And now there were two..."

A cold and sinister laugh filled the rank room as the killer began his work.

The wind ripped through the Doctors coat as he fumbled with his keys. Finally picking the correct one, he turned and unlocked the door, hurrying inside 221B. He had just returned from Lady Evelyn's, after comforting the mournful woman and listening to her story. He recalled the recent events, his mind trying to grasp every detail.

"_I am sorry for your loss, I truly am," John said softly as he helped the tearful Lady Evelyn to her bed._

"_He vas a good man, James vas a good man!" the woman sobbed, tears falling down her rosy cheeks. John held her to him as her body shook with grief. He smelled the scent of her shampoo and could feel the color rise in his cheeks._

"_Could you tell me if your lover had any enemies? Was he involved with any dangerous people?"_

_The lady looked up at John her eyes moist with her tears. John felt his heart reach out to her._

"_Well. James vas a very powerful man. He and his father both ran the Malkli National Bank. Of course they vould have some kind of enemies. Go to talk to his father." The lady accepted the pale pink handkerchief that John offered her from the bedside table. _

"_He vas always vorking, never had much time for me, but he was a good man. I loved him very much. He never said much of his day to day activities. Not that I cared. I only cared that ve could spend time together." John felt his warm cheeks burn, when the woman wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her wavy blond hair against his chest._

"_I am sorry you had to lose him...but I really must be going. I can call someone for you... I have to get back...I..." John stammered as the Lady Evelyn gazed up at him. In what seemed like forever, Eveyln's lips rose to meet the Doctors. However a flash of Sherlock's face appeared in John's mind so suddenly that he leaped from the bedside._

"_I really must be going...so sorry..." John rambled as he left the Lady Evelyn sitting alone on the bed. John hurried down the Hotel's stairs, through the front and back out into winter's cold embrace._

John closed the door to 221B and hung up his jacket. Why did Sherlock have to pop up in his mind like that? He shook his head. He must be tired. But more importantly, if the Lady Evelyn loved James so much, why had she tried to kiss him? _Go talk to his father_. The words echoed through John's mind. He would have to tell Sherlock. The Doctor shred his winter attire and entered the living room. On the leather sofa, lay Sherlock Homes, his back turned and crunched in a ball.

"Sherlock?"

No answer. Sherlock lay still, his arms wrapped around his knees. John walked over to the detective. He put out his hand, but before he could touch his flatmate, Sherlock sat up suddenly and turned to face John. John's heart flipped over slightly as he looked in his colleague's face. Blue-gray eyes, full lips and pale skin. Black curly hair framed a handsome face that would break many a heart. Pushing the weird fluttery feelings aside, John turned to sit in his chair.

"Malkli National Bank. One of the richest banks in London. It was run by James and his father George Malkli until recently Jame's body was found in an empty house dressed as a clown. George Malkli is fifty eight years of age, lives alone in a mansion on Cloverfield Avenue, has three giant Great Danes names Lily, Peony and Poppy." Sherlock puffed his cheeks and glared at the Doctor, who had made himself comfortable in his white leather armchair. He glared at his flatmate, taking in his red cheeks, his dark eyes, his rumpled hair, his body...his scent. John's scent and that woman's. Sherlock felt his heart beat faster, his muscles tighten.

"Comforting the woman already are you? Her lover hasn't even been dead twenty-four hours and your already holding her in your arms? She's ensnared you? Well I can tell you right now John Watson. That woman is a liar!"

John stiffened in surprise at Sherlock's accusation.

"I am not ensnared! I was just helping a grieving woman whom you caused great pain to by being so abrupt and uncaring. And what do you mean a liar?" John shouted, clenching his fists.

" What I_ mean_, John, is that the Lady Evelyn was not only sleeping with James, but with the father. She was using both of them, both men! Before you open your big mouth and bore me with trivial speech, I have set up an appointment with George tomorrow at the Bank."

John could only stare at Sherlock. He could feel the veins popping in his neck. How could a sweet and beautiful woman like Evelyn sleep with father and son? It could not be so! He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the image. As if reading his thoughts Sherlock smirked. He turned around and lay back down on the sofa, stretching his legs out rather than bunching up into a tight ball. Why did it bother him so much that John had went out of his way to comfort a lady in distress?_ Distress indeed_ Sherlock thought darkly as he stared into the wallpaper's pattern.

"How do you know she was sleeping with both of them?"

"I have my sources. I might as well question you about why you care so much about this woman?"

"I don't care, I was just...concerned."

John could almost see Sherlock's eyes roll around and a slight smirk on his features. But he did think about what the detective had said. Why should he care so much?_ Because she reminds you of a past friend_ John thought. Yes she was beautiful, but John couldn't see himself with her in a romantic way. She reminded him too much of someone. A friend who had past away many years ago, when he was still a youngster.

"She just reminded me of a friend I had long ago, that's all. I am sorry if I made a different impression," muttered John as he massaged his neck. He felt as if he_ had_ to explain himself to Sherlock. He didn't want his flatmate to be mad or angry with him, for any reason. Whenever Sherlock got upset, John took it upon himself that he had to either apologize or fix it somehow, even if it was Sherlock's fault. He never wanted to get into a situation that was unfixable with the detective. The thought always made his gut churn. He glanced back up at Sherlock and found that he was sitting back up, his hand back to their usual steepled position.

"Well then. Let us prepare our selves to meet George Malkli himself." Sherlock smiled his eyes bright. John let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. A calm washed over him knowing that all was forgiven. He felt a tug within as he took in Sherlock's smile. With a nod, John got up and headed up towards his room, sleep tugging at him. It had been a long day.

"Good night John."

John allowed himself to smile. With a wave he sauntered up the stairs leaving Sherlock sitting on the couch. Sherlock allowed himself to watched John until he had disappeared up the steps. It didn't help too much that Evelyn reminded John of a past friend. _Better than a lover_ thought Sherlock, his heart paining at the very thought of John and the woman together. But John had said so himself he didn't think of her that way. This allowed Sherlock to collect his thoughts. John was his and he didn't want to give what was his to anybody.

_A whisper. A touch. A tentativeve kiss. A hunger that burned deep within the stomach. He felt the smooth skin beneath his, the tightness, the firmness. The curious kiss deepened into a raw lust that threatened to engulf the mind and body. The quick breathes, the moans, and fingers digging into flesh. He raised his eyes and meet the gray-blue of his lover. Kisses that explored, kisses that left each other breathless. He felt the warmth, pounded deeper, hearing the cries of pure pleasure. Faster. Harder. The groans emanating from the full red lips. Dark hair falling around the perfect face. The sheen of sweat that lined the cheeks, the arms, the chest. The firm muscles that lined the body of his lover. Thin, but firm. But beautiful, oh gods he was beautiful. John raised himself higher, filling his lover with his seed, the warmth that engulfed them as they lay..._

BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...

John jumped up from his bed, the dream shattering by the sound of the alarm. His eyes wide, his breath quick. John looked at the wall of his room in shock. He had dreamed of Sherlock. Himself and Sherlock. Naked. In bed. Together. John sat up on the bed. He looked down and groaned. He had a full on erection. From the dream. Sherlock. John. Sex. The thought made the Doctors heart skip a beat. Trying to erase the thoughts building up in his mind, the Doctor went off towards the bathroom.

"This is not happening to me..." moaned Watson as he started the shower. He felt the hot water soak into his very skin, letting the stress from the previous day wash away. He let the beads of water cleanse his body, their soothing droplets coursing down his back. He turned towards his current problem. His erection stood long and proud. Taking his right hand, John began to move. He began stroking himself, starting out slow and then maintaining a steady pace. In his mind's eye, Sherlock lay naked on the bed. The Doctor groaned, his teeth grinding together feeling himself on the verge of cumming. He imagined himself pounding into the , detective hearing the moans of pleasure. Within a few moments John let his seed spill out into the shower. His breathing came to him fast and quick. He closed his eyes, not believing what he had just done. Swearing to himself that this would never happen again, John got out of the shower and began the battle for the day.

Meanwhile Sherlock was texting away on his cell completely ignorant of what had just occurred in his flatmates room. He glanced at the clock. John should be down by now. He has at least ten minutes late. They needed to get ready for the visit with the mysterious Malkli Banker.

"Here is your coffee dear," tittered Mrs. Hudson as she brought Sherlock a fresh cup of coffee. He took it, setting down his phone and sipped the hot brew. Wincing at the hotness of the drink, and managing to burn his tongue, Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"...why is there only one sugar in my coffee? I need my two sugars with my black coffee. I do not, I repeat I do not drink coffee unless it has two sugars."

"I am not your housekeeper dear. I thought you would like a cup, since Doctor Watson is running a bit late and I know you like your coffee on time."

Sherlock managed a nod, as he placed his coffee to the side, now completely immersed in texting. Mrs. Hudson took away the coffee, nodding brightly to John who had just stepped down from upstairs. John saw Sherlock sitting on the armchair. Immediately John's cheeks burst into flames. _Naked. Sherlock. Moaning._ He pushed the thoughts deep into the back of his mind and locked it.

"What's for breakfast?" John asked making his way into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and almost lost whatever it was inside his rumbling stomach. Five dead mice where in the fridge, there eyes missing. A hand and a dead bat were hanging by strings that were somehow taped to the top of the fridge. Another one of Sherlock's experiments no doubt.

"I guess I am eating out again."

"_We_ shall be eating out John. I am going to take you to one of my favourite spots located on North Marple Street. They have the best donuts there. They also have a great place for reading and observing people. People do the most dull daily activities. Going and walking their dogs, chattering, feeding pigeons, anything that is uneventful. But they do have an indoor chess park which we are going to go and entertain ourselves as we wait for our engagement with the Bank."

John nodded and both men threw on their winter clothing, making sure to bundle up warm. It had stopped snowing but the air was still relentless with the chill. They bid farewell as they entered the snow covered city.


	4. Chapter 4

The white paint slid easily across skin, holding on thickly, not letting go. Black liner carefully slid across closed eyelids, black lipstick staining lips open in a silent scream. Cloth smooth as silk draped on the body; black and white stripes shining in the dimly lit room. Large pointed shoes wore themselves proudly as the black leather reflected the single lightbulb protruding from the ceiling. The black gloved hands finished re-arranging the black and white suit. The ruffles of the sleeves hung long, hiding the dead man's arms. The killer stared at the handiwork which lay in front on a large steel table. A terrible smile adorned the thin features, cold hazel eyes drank in the view of the dead man now dressed in a clown costume. Walking over to the table, the killer pulled out it's favorite blade. Small, thin and cruel. Taking the blade over to the dead man, the figure etched into the forehead the number 2. With a sinister laugh the murderer finished the masterpiece. Pulling out a phone the killer dialed the police.

"I would like to report a killing...Yes...Please hurry...Where?...Stratist Ave, Building Number 666..."

With a click the call was abruptly ended. White teeth flashed in the dim light. By the time the police arrived, the only thing that would be in the cold room, would be the dead man in a clown suit lying on a cold steel table, the dank smell floating throughout the room.

"It's time to play..."

"Checkmate."

John ran his hands throughout his sandy blond hair. He had lost for the fourth time in a row to a smirking Sherlock. They had left 221B to go get breakfast at one of Sherlock's recommended cafes. It was a red brick building with large front windows. Inside, small tables were filled with customers, the smell of fresh coffee and warm baking welcomed in the cold passers by. In a corner of the shop, large wooden tables hosted chess boards. Sitting at one of the tables, Sherlock sat gloating about his victories.

"You could at least have let me win one game Sherlock. I don't think it's quite fair."

"I am not just going to let you win. Chess is a game, a game of wits, talent, and skill, skill which you do not have. It has been decided, I will take it upon myself to teach you the ways of the game. Then we shall have a rematch." Sherlock smiled as he placed the chess pieces back in their aloted squares. John sighed. When Sherlock decided on something, there was no going back._ I guess I am to become a chess master_ thought John watching Sherlock. The detective glanced at his phone.

"We need to go and hurry if we want to meet the Malkli Banker. It is odd that his only son died yesterday and there has been no talk about a funeral or anything of the sort. Until I say otherwise I believe is considered a suspect as well as his lover, Evelyn."

John grimaced slightly. He did not believe that the woman could have killed James Malkli. Even though she had been seeing both men, John thought that she truely cared. But then again, anyone can be capable of murder.

"I did some digging and it turns out that James had no connection with any type of clown; person or not," John stated as they got up out of their chairs. They left the warm and comforting embrance of the cafe and called for a cabbie.

"That is why this murder is so thrilling! Why a clown? If the man had no connections with clowns then why would his killer dress him up as one? Does this killer have a prefrence? How did the killer manage to get access to an extremly powerful man? George will answer our questions regarding every aspect of his son's life, even if we have beat the truth out of him, in which case I will leave that part to you. You are soldier."

"A soldier yes, but an army doctor Sherlock. There is a difference!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, watching the traffic roll by.

"The point is that we need to understand why the killer choose to kill a high ranking man of society, and we need to find out precisely everything that George knows. Did our victim have coulrophobia , is that why he never associated himself with clowns? I would say that from the looks of it, the killer knew the victim, so obviously it must be someone close to him."

"If I am hearing you properly, then you are guessing that George or Eveyln had something to do with all of this?" John questioned, thinking about everything his flatmate had just said.

"I do not _guess_ John, I _know_. My intelligence is far too great for guess work. I know that the murderer was close to our victim, due to the fact on how the body was prepared. It was given the utmost care to every detail, every stoke and every placement of fabric was given great attention. So my dear John, I am not _guessing_, I know that George and Evelyn have something to do with all of this."

John ignored the insult. He watched as Sherlock Holmes again pulled out his phone, this time to answer a call. John glanced at Sherlock's hands. They were long and slender, pale skin that looked so delicate. He found himself staring at his colleagues mouth, finding himself being pulled in.

"That was Lestrade. He said...John...what are you staring at?"

John Watson tore his gaze from those delicious looking lips. Delicious? What was he thinking?

"Um, nothing...Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

Sherlock tapped his fingers, clearly annoyed.

"Lestrade said that he is going to meet us for the interview."

"You mean interrogation..."mumbled John, knowing that Sherlock never_ interviews_. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He continued to tap his fingers. The detective was puzzled by John's behaviour this morning. Usually John was more talkative, but today he seemed not to be able to look Sherlock directly in his eyes. This was annoyed him more that anything. Was John troubled by something? Or was he just being in a terrible mood from losing a few games of chess? Whatever it was Sherlock wanted to put an end to it.

"John."

"What Sherlock?"

"Look at me."

"I am looking at you. What are you doing?"

"I mean look, really look at me. You have been avoiding my gaze all morning!"

John looked straight into Sherlock's gray-blue eyes. The reason he had been avoiding his flatmates gaze, was because of the incident in the shower. Whenever he looked into Sherlock's eyes, a hunger rose deep within John, and frankly it scared him. He didn't want to deal with this at all.

"See, that was not so hard John. It helps to talk to someone when they are actually looking at you. Ah we have arrived my dear Doctor!"

The taxi parked in front of a massive building which dwarfed everything insight. Shining glass and steel tried to touch the sky. Both men exited the cabbie and entered the Malkli National Bank. Sherlock and John presented ID and where escorted up to the top floor of the enormous structure that overlooked London. Sherlock had a small smile plastered on his face. His fingers tapped along his leg, too excited to hold still. As the Doctor and the detective left the elevator they were met outside a frosted glass door by Inspector Lestrade. They all exchanged nods and entered the office of George Malkli.

It was an impressive office. An enormous view of the city lay before them for the windows made up most of the wall space. An oak desk, office chair and cabinets decorated the vast space mingling in with large potted plants.

"You must be the Inspector Lestrade. What can I do for you this fine afternoon?"

Sitting in the office chair, his green eyes gazing up at the three men, sat a large thin man. His black hair was short and styled slightly in the front. He wore thick brimmed glasses, a dark suit, a green tie, and shiny black shoes. Before Lestrade could even get a word out, Sherlock had stepped right up to the Banker and placed his hands on the desk, leaning in to look at the man's face.

"I want to know about your son, James. I want to know, what business he did, when he did it, how he did it and any aspect of his life. I want to know who he knew, what connections he had, or if he had any enemies. We can start with if he had any enemies."

George stared at Sherlock, his mouth slightly agape. The Banker's eyes fluttered over to Lestrade who simply gave a weak smile and nodded. Sherlock tapped his fingers impatiently.

"My son had many people who were jealous about his position in the office, not to mention that he was my son. But to think that someone would kill him...it's still hard to believe." George said, "I am still finding it hard to believe that he's gone. I loved my son very much." The man's deep voice sounded pained. Sherlock knew that he was telling some truth, but something was lacking.

"I find it hard to think that you loved your son very much. Here you are, no funeral ready, sleeping with your son's wife or lover, whatever she is, and most intriguing is that your not sad. You turned your head away from me as you said '_I loved my son very much_'. Your eyes avoid mine for a brief moment, indicating that you are not telling the truth. Yes, your son did have enemies, but why would they want him dead? There is something more than just being in a high position and being someones son."

The Banker's eyes narrowed. Sherlock did not take his eyes away, his fingers still tapping away on the oak desk.

"My son was a good boy. Loved? No I did not love him, not as I should have. I should have been a better father to James, but he was not my actual son. James was adopted when he was about a year old. My wife could not have children so we decided to adopt, although I was against the idea. But she insisted. She passed away when James turned ten, I tried to be a father to the boy, but it seems I am no expert in that area. " Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"I sent my son off to a private academy where he stayed until he graduated. He came back, and I gave him a position in the Bank. He was hard working, good at his job. Regarding his private life, I have no idea what he did on his spare time."

"What about Evelyn?" inquired John.

"I meet Evelyn at one of our banquets. She was with John, they had gotten married a few months a go. We had an instant attraction."

Sherlock moved away from the desk and began pacing around the room.

"Did James ever mention any phobias to you? Like being afraid of the dark, or having a fear of heights... Clowns perhaps?" Sherlock said stopping to look out the window into the city below.

"No James never said anything to me about fears or phobias. Like I said, we only ever talked about business, nothing more."

"You were seeing your son's wife behind his back. She had switched the ring to her other hand. James it seemed, did not notice. People are always so pathetic on these details. You could have killed your son, hired someone to do it for you, he was a nuisance. Evelyn could have done it. It would be logical, she would go for the older man, who had power and wealth, stability in life..."

"I DID NOT MURDER MY SON!" George Malkli had jumped from his chair, " NOR DID LADY EVELYN!"

Sherlock turned from the view, a bored expression on his face. The Banker was breathing hard. John and Lestrade who had been standing quite, let out a shout as George made a leap for the consulting detective. The both grabbed at him, as he struggled to reach Sherlock.

"Very interesting. Can you provide concrete evidence that states you had nothing to do with the murder of James Malkli?"

"I WILL SHOW YOU ANYTHING YOU NEED, YOU BASTARD! I MAY HAVE NOT LOVED JAMES AS A FATHER SHOULD, BUT I WOULDN'T DO ANYTHING TO HARM THAT BOY!"

Sherlock turned his head side ways with a smirk. John and Lestrade had managed to pull the enraged Banker back into his chair.

"I need to know more about this academy that you send James to. I need paperwork, files, anything that will help us find your son's killer. I believe that you had nothing to do with killing your son, I just need to be convinced." George shot daggers at Sherlock, but he managed to get his breathing under control. After a few moments of ackward silence, the Banker spoke in a deep , shaky voice.

"I will do whatever is in my power to help. I will send everything about my son, his work and academy life to you by tomorrow morning." pushed a button on a device that lay face-up on his desk. Within moments a tall handsome man dressed in a black suit appeared through the frosted glass door. His hair shone gold in the light, his honey eyes scanning the vacinity.

"This is Cas Foreman. He is a personal guard of mine. He is highly skilled and intelligent. I want him to help you in any way possible."

"That will not be..." Sherlock spoke, but was cut off by Lestrade.

"We will be most grateful for the help, . We will update you with any news. I also want to apologise for Sherlock Holmes. His methods can be...upsetting." Sherlock frowned deeply not at all impressed. He walked straight passed John and Lestrade without a word.

" I think you have upset him," mumbled John.

"Upset him? Upset him? After what he just pulled in here?" Lestrade looked at John with wide eyes. John shrugged and went after his flatmate.

"Just follow us then if you please," said John as he glanced to Cas. The other man nodded, following the Doctor out the door.

Sherlock stood glaring at John and the man who stood beside them. Cas Foreman. He did not want some stranger working beside him. As John opened the door to 221B, Sherlock meet the other man's eyes. Cas's eyes stared back. A slow smile crawled up on his face. Sherlock took in every detail. He was wealthy, working for the Bank as he did, wore expensive clothing, had a Rolex watch on his left hand, no rings. He was not married, had a dog based on the rogue fur located on the sleeve cuffs. He wore his hair short, cared for his appearance, and smelled of honey and warm coffee.

"Like what you see?"

Sherlock smirked and moved past Cas, out of the cold.

"You have a dog by the slight, left over fur on the sleeves of your cuffs. You are not married, drink coffee with honey, and wear Versace suits. That's all I need and want to know. I do not want you working on my case, so stay out of my way."

"You have, what's his name, John Watson working with you. Why should I be a problem? Can't handle my charm?" The man winked at him. Sherlock's frown deepened.

"John has been working with me for a long time. Unlike you I trust him and rely on his opinions. Now excuse me,I need to do my work." Sherlock went into the kitchen, scowling as he heard the man follow him.

"Nice place you have here. I would have the mess sorted out though." Sherlock was about to tell the annoying man that he should leave when John interrupted by bringing out some hot tea.

"Care for a cup? This will warm you up from being outside."

Sherlock turned and headed upstairs to his room.

"Did I do something to upset him?" asked Cas, a smile on his face. John sighed.

"Sherlock doesn't like when other people get between him and his work."

"A very interesting man."

"Indeed." John didn't like the way Cas had taken an interest in Sherlock. He had noticed the way the man had eyed Sherlock as they had left the National Bank. _Stop it_ thought John as the two men sat down _I am probably just over tired_. Sudden screeching echoed from the room upstairs. John ran a hand over his face as Cas nearly jumped up from the chair.

"What in the world is that sound?" cringed Cas as he took a sip of tea.

"That is Sherlock's way of thinking, playing his violin." John laughed.

" I am not sure you would call that music. Seriously? It helps him think?"

That was when the phone rang. John reached into his pocket and flipped open the cell.

"John Watson...SHERLOCK!" John shouted as he flipped the cellphone shut.

"What is it?" asked Cas, setting down his cup of tea. His eyes glowed with interest.

"There has been another murder. This time across the city on Stratist Ave." Both men turned as Sherlock walked down the stairs, violin screeching. Sherlock paused, noticing the expression on John's face.

"There has been another murder Sherlock." Sherlock almost dropped the instrument in his excitement.

"Yes. Oh this thrilling, exhilarating! I love these murders involving serial killers! They are always the most exciting to catch. Where?"

"In a house on Stratist Ave, not only half an hour ago. Lestrade just found the body. An anonymous tip helped the police discover the body." John said. He hadn't expected this.

"Well what are we standing here for. Let us go to the crime scene! Not a moment to lose." Sherlock abandoned his violin and raced back out to grab his winter attire.

"Is he always so enthusiastic?" Cas stared in awe at the rushing detective.

"Always."


	5. Chapter 5

Police lights flashed in the icy night air. The snow fell down relentless as if trying to engulf the entire city of London. A black painted house with a white peeling picket fence stood surrounded by police cars and yellow tape. The house had been abandoned, no one had lived in it for a few years. As Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Cas Foreman left the warmth of the taxi, they were meet by Inspector Lestrade.

"The body was found in a room downstairs. Same as the last one. But this time our killer left us a clue." Lestrade pulled out of his pocket a wallet and ID, "This man was named Jimmy Powell, he was a lawyer. Age thirty, married and lived in Westwood Heights." Lestrade led them through the house to the room where the dead Mr. Powell lay.

"What is he doing here? He's going to ruin everything!" Sherlock clenched his teeth at sound the annoying voice and didn't have to turn his head around to know it was Anderson.

"Shut up Anderson. Your making everyone's IQ drop just by standing there. Leave and let us work." With a flourish Sherlock turned around and slammed the door in Anderson's face. Sherlock turned sharply as he heard Cas laugh.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, unsure why the man was laughing. Instead he turned towards the body, forgetting everyone else in the room. He walked around the table, pulling his trusty magnifing glass out once more. The dead man was dressed exactly the same as James Malkli, but instead a number 2 was etched into the man's forehead. His eyes were closed, but his mouth lay open in a silent scream. Sherlock lifted up the man's sleeves and he heard John, Lestrade and Cas hiss. The man's arms where black and blue with bruises, small deep cuts etched into flesh. He motioned for John to examine the body. John nodded and walked towards the corpse.

"This man died the same way James did. Heart attack but with possible trauma to the back of the head as if someone hit him with a hard object."

"The killer must have tortured him with small sharp objects, most likely knives made out some sort of steel. High quality by the looks of it. Clean and deep, so it must have been a surgical blade." Cas had some around to look at the wounds inflicted on the dead man. Sherlock glanced at the man, slightly impressed. John felt a slight tug in his stomach.

"Our killer is becoming more violent. With James he killed him by injection, no massive bruising or cuts, except the number on the forehead. This man was tortured, brutally and for approximately four hours. I find it very interesting...very interesting indeed," Sherlock paced around the body, "Both victims where working in society as socially important business men ; one a banker the other a lawyer...our killer has a taste for killing high standing people. Lestrade, find out all you can about this man; where he got his education, where he worked, who he knew. I think this man has a connection with our last victim."

Lestrade nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sherlock took a breath and went back over to the body. He looked again at the man who lay before him and noticed something inside the mouth. Bending over he reached under the man's tongue.

"What is that Sherlock?" John came around to stand beside the detective. They both stared at a bloody crumpled ball of paper. Cas also walked over, and John noticed that he stood a little to close to Sherlock for his liking. John stepped closer almost brushing his shoulders with Sherlock. Cas looked up at John, John stared back. _Step away from him _thought John . Cas gave a shrug and took a small step back. John smiled quietly to himself but his attention was pulled back to the paper which was now unraveled. The three men looked at the note and John let out an angry growl.

_Come and play Sherlock Holmes! I am moving to Number Three! Here's a clue...lavender, sun ,wheat._

Sherlock crumpled the note. There was going to be a third victim, unless he managed to find the killer before he murdered again. Lavender. Sun. Wheat. What kind of clues where these?

"I think we should be heading back," Cas stated as he threw his arm over Sherlock's shoulders leading him towards the door. John felt an anger grow , felt his muscles clench as he watched Cas drag Sherlock towards the doorway.

"I command you to refrain from touching me," Sherlock said coldly as he brushed off Cas's arm.

"I was just being friendly. It's late and I think we need to head back home and get a good night's sleep. I think I would love to be '_commanded_' by you... to command me to pleasure you beyond anything you have ever experienced."Cas finished the last sentence with a whisper in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"Home?" asked Sherlock, his voice dripping with ice, " I do not recall allowing you to stay at my flat. I especially not need a nuisance parading in my dwelling telling me about such nonsense. John, the door."

"Lestrade said I can stay there until the case has been solved," chuckled Cas, his eyes on Sherlock's back "Besides, you were impressed by me today,".

"Lestrade is perfectly capable to accommodate you at his own home. I however, have no room. Now if you will excuse me, John and I have a prior engagement." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and left the crime scene, aware that Cas's eyes where burning into his back. It was true he had been impressed by the man's knowledge. But Sherlock didn't trust him nor did he like his strange talk. It made no sense to him, but the tone of the man led Sherlock to believe that Cas wanted something from him. As they exited the building and into the night, John coughed slightly. Sherlock continued to walk a brisk pace through the snowy sidewalk, ignoring John.

"Sherlock will you please slow down for just a moment." Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"I want to go home, I don't want to be around that person any longer than necessary. I find him arrogant and annoying. Almost as much as Anderson. What is it John? If you are trying to tell me something please do. I hate waiting. " Sherlock gazed in John's dark eyes. John's face was flushed, his pupils dilated slightly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Your crushing my hand." John stated. Sherlock looked down at their entwined fingers. He had grabbed John's hand and had rushed out of the crime scene without thinking. Sherlock relaxed his grip slightly but didn't let go. The consulting detective turned around suddenly, John's hand still clasped within his own and took off back down to grab a cabbie. John could feel his face heating up. John had almost lost it when Cas had put his arm around Sherlock. But here he was holding his flatmates hand as they walked through the snow to find a cabbie back to 221B. Sherlock's long pale fingers held on to John, completely ignoring the odd passer by. John felt warmth flow through him, reaching his loins. Thoughts unlocked themselves from the back of the Doctor's mind; a naked Sherlock moaning as John thrust into him. Eyes that begged for more. He snatched his hand quickly from Sherlock's grasp.

"It doesn't look good for two grown men to hold hands, it's sort of problematic." John said as he shoved his palms into his jacket pockets. Something past over Sherlock's features but was gone in an instance, replaced by his emotionless expression.

"Yes it would seem to be _problematic_ for most people. TAXI!" John felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. Sherlock didn't say anything on the ride home. He just sat and stared through the window.

Sherlock lay down on his bed, his face towards the ceiling. _Problematic_. When he realized that he had caught John's hand and rushed out of the building, Sherlock had felt a weird feeling in his body. He did not want to let go. John made his heart beat irregularly whenever Sherlock looked into the deep dark eyes. He was careful never to show what he truly felt on the inside. He was not sure how John would react if Sherlock had told him that he thought about him in this unexplainable way. When John had pulled his hand away sharply, Sherlock didn't know how to react. A surge of emotions had swept through his entire body, but he managed to get them under control before John took notice. He had bid John a polite goodnight and then had retired to his room. Sherlock held his hand in front of his face.

"Emotions are troublesome, irrational and I simply find no use for I can not comprehend is that, these...feelings... erupt whenever I am with John." Sherlock muttered under his breath. He had seen people kissing before and had thought it useless and extremely boring. Sherlock had never kissed anyone, never wanted to until he had met John. He was, for the first time, unsure of what to do.

_Command me to pleasure you beyond anything you have ever experienced._Sherlock cursed as he remembered what Cas had whispered into his ear. The man's breath had been warm, smelling of honey and coffee. _That man is insufferable_ thought Sherlock as he closed his eyes tying to erase the memory of how close the other man had been.

Meanwhile John sat on his bed. He let out an angry sigh. He had regretting saying those words as soon as they had left his mouth for Sherlock had been quiet for the rest of the evening except to tell him goodnight. The Doctor closed his eyes. He kept trying to push images of Sherlock out of his mind, but to no avail. He wanted him. He wanted Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock to look at him, only him. He hated how Cas had put his arms around his flatmate, had stared at Sherlock as if he were undressing him. Sherlock was oblivious to all this attention, but John had seen Cas's instant attraction to Sherlock when he had first entered the office building of George Malkli. He had thought nothing of it, until Cas had started to make moves on the detective. John remembered the feeling of Sherlock's hands on his own. He felt his erection through his pants. He lay on the bed, closing his eyes. He imagined Sherlock standing in front of him, undoing his buttons to reveal the naked flesh underneath. John put his hands and released himself from the tight constriction of the jeans. He began to move his hands, slowly and then built up speed. Sherlock was naked. Sherlock placing himself above John, moaning in pleasure as he slid over John's enormous shaft. John began to breath faster. He groaned as he neared his release.

"What are you doing..."

John fell off the bed in complete shock. Sherlock was standing in the door his eyes wide. John cursed, trying to gather his jeans. Sherlock stared at John. The Doctor's face burned crimson as he looked into Sherlock's handsome face. The face in which he had just fantasized about moments before the intrusion.

"I was masturbating! Have you ever heard of knocking?"

" I have heard of masturbation, but never knew it implied...that." Sherlock coughed, his eyes fixated on the erection. John covered himself with his jeans.

"What? You mean you have never..jerked off before?" John was finding this very hard to believe.

"I never had the inclination or desire to do... that..." huffed Sherlock. John noticed that Sherlock was very red at the ears. John couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"So you have never even touched yourself..." Sherlock shook his head, his eyes darting over the room._ Is he nervous?_ thought John. "Have you ever kissed anyone before Sherlock?" Sherlock didn't move, not looking into John's face.

"Have you ever thought of kissing anyone before?" asked John, his heart racing, blood pumping through his ears, not knowing what to expect. Sherlock mumbled something, but before John could catch what Sherlock had said, he abruptly turned and left. John stared at the empty doorway. Sherlock Holmes was a virgin, a complete and utter virgin. John's heart was racing in his chest. He stared at his manhood. Sherlock had done the job of scaring him almost to death. He grimaced slightly as he slipped into his nightwear. It was going to be long night. He would tell Sherlock in the morning about what he felt in his heart for the world's only consulting detective.

Sherlock left John's room. His heart had almost stopped in his chest. He had never seen John so...in pleasure...half _naked_... He had taken in John's muscular body, his strong arms, his manhood. Sherlock swallowed. John had been so...big. Sherlock felt blood rush to his face as John asked if he had wanted to kiss someone. He was about to tell John that it had been him, that he had these unusual feelings welling up inside. But then Sherlock had re-visited the memory of John, his face uncomfortable as he had snatched away his hand. Problematic. So he had abruptly turned and escaped out the door. _Curse feelings and every human emotion!_ Sherlock thought was he closed the door to his bedroom. The clock told the time. 12:00pm. Sherlock lay down in bed, picking at his violin strings. He would try and forget these feelings. The last thing he wanted was John to be in a situation that would be inconvenient. Ignoring the pain in his chest Sherlock began thinking about the clues the killer had left. Lavender, sun, and wheat. Three words. Sherlock got up, tossed his violin and snatched up his laptop. It was going to be a long night.

"JOHN!"

John Watson came down the stairs and into the living room. The small fireplace was glowing and the smell of freshly made tea engulfed the room. Sherlock was staring at his laptop, his eyes wide, a smile on his face. John felt butterflies in his stomach. Sherlock was dressed in a white shirt revealing a good portion of his chest, a black jacket, and his checkered pajama was beautiful.

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Lavender, sun and wheat! The clues our killer left us. Lavender; color of clothing,a scent, a favorite flower. Sun; a building, or color. Wheat; wealth. Don't you see? Our killer is quite clever. Lavender is a type of flower used for oil, for making honey, or the color of clothing. The sun. Our next victim maybe living where you can get the most sun, a high building where there are windows, many windows, " Sherlock paused for effect, taking in John's surprised expression. Sherlock continued his smile widening, " Wheat. Wheat was considered to be like wealth to farmers who grew the golden grain as a means to survive."

"When did you figure all this out?"

"I stayed up all night searching, trying to find answers . I believe our next victim is wealthy, lives in a high building, a tall apartment with windows. The lavender I am still trying to piece it together." Sherlock said. He stretched and lay back on the couch, curling into a tight ball.

"John, some coffee."

John smiled. Sherlock seemed to be his back to his usual self.

"Coffee it is," John stated. As he made his way into the kitchen he paused," Sherlock there is something I need to talk to you about. Something important."

The curled up ball lay motionless, but John knew that he had the detectives attention. He breathed in a deep breath, feeling the butterflies stirring once more.

"I wanted to tell you that I..."

There was a knock on the door.

"Open up. It's Lestrade!"

John clenched his jaw. He went over to the entrance and opened the door. Lestrade and Cas stood in the snow, there eyes bright. John let them inside, as Sherlock turned his head around to see who had entered the flat. Seeing it was the Inspector and Cas, Sherlock just turned over on his other side, this time facing the other men.

"What is it Inspector?" John asked, the butterflies quieting down. He had just been about to tell Sherlock how he had felt. How he wanted to feel, but then then the moment had passed. John didn't know whether to feel relief or rage at being interrupted.

"We have information regarding our two victims." Lestrade said as he sat down on one of the armchairs. He held out his hands towards the fireplace, letting his cold hands heat up. Cas took the chair beside the Inspector, his eyes moving up and down Sherlock's exposed chest.

"James Malkli and Jimmy Powell had attended the same academy growing up. The London Academy located in a large secluded estate allowed boys from rich and powerful families to be housed and taught by some of the best instructors in London. Both our victims where one of the top students of the Academy. They both went their separate ways after graduating." Lestrate told John and Sherlock as he accepted the hot coffee which John and gotten from the kitchen.

Sherlock flexed his toes. He still lay on his side, staring at the men with calculating eyes.

"The killer must be someone who knew the victims while attending the Academy. A male. The school was an all boys institution. Why go separate ways after graduating?" Sherlock muttered.

"That's what we thought as well. There was an incident that occurred just before graduation. A male student by the name of Henry Wickens was kicked out of the Academy for unlawful behavior and disruption of classes. Wickens was a genius, he only got into the school by scholarships, since he did not come from a wealthy family. After this incident our victims didn't talk to one another after graduating. Other than this, we have nothing more to go on." Cas said, smiling a dazzling smile at the detective. Sherlock ignored the man. His eyes were bright.

"What if...Where there women at the Academy?" asked Sherlock looking straight into Lestrade's face.

"There were a few female teachers, but it was a boy's Academy. Why do you ask?"

Sherlock sat up with his eyes flashing.

"I am going out for some air. I won't be long." Ignoring everyone Sherlock grabbed his coat and ran off into the snowy morning. The men looked around confused.

"I'm going after him," muttered John. He didn't like it when Sherlock ran off by himself. Grabbing his jacket he took off after his flatmate, leaving the Inspector and Cas in front of the fireplace.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning air was warm, the sun was shining through the clouds as they drifted lazily about. People hurried along their way some pausing to escape into the warm cafes that enticed the sense of smell. Cars honked at one another, their engines rumbling. People turned to stare at the man dressed in both formal and night attire as he raced across the street ignoring everyone and everything in his path. His breath mingled with the air, his blue-grey eyes focused on the taxi headed his way. With a wave of his gloved hand, Sherlock Holmes stepped in front of the cabbie. Getting in, he pulled his jacket closer to his body.

"The Harlington Hotel, be quick about it."

The taxi took off into the flow, weaving its way through the London traffic. Sherlock glanced at his phone. John must be worried, he usually hated it when Sherlock took off by himself. The detective should have told John where he was going but there was no time. He knew John was smart, he would figure out where he was headed. Sherlock again looked at his phone, this time at the call I.D. A blocked number. He flicked open his phone. He listened intently, his free hand tapping his slender fingers, as the other voice spoke.

"Tick-tock Sherlock Holmes. I am waiting!" An insane laugh echoed through the phone. Sherlock winced at the sound. High and shrill. The call ended as Sherlock stared intently out the window, his with mind a whirl with thoughts.

Meanwhile, John searched the streets trying to find out where Sherlock had disappeared to. He pulled his coat closer together. The sun was out, but it was still chilly. Where could he have gone? John knew it had something to due with the killer. Sherlock just never went out suddenly to just get some air. He would rather open the window, sit by the sill and play his violin until John came over and threatened him to shut the window, or the entire house would freeze. _What would Sherlock do? Try and think like Sherlock Holmes_ John thought. He thought about the killings, the connections, and the clues Sherlock had discussed with him.

"Oh no,"John muttered as he quickly hailed down a taxi, a sudden thought popping up in his mind. Surely Sherlock wouldn't be so rash. But then again he usually was.

"Harlington Hotel please. I am in a hurry. Thanks," the Doctor told the driver. He sank back in the chair his heart beating in his chest. Evelyn. The next victim was going to be the Lady Evelyn unless Sherlock made it in time before the murderer. Evelyn fit the description of the words the killer had left. Lavender, sun and wheat. John had seen lavender in a bottle near the bed in her Hotel room, her clothing had been purple, and she had stayed in a room where the most sunlight streamed in throughout the Hotel. John prayed that Sherlock wouldn't walk into a trap.

That is exactly what Sherlock did. As he pushed open the doors to Evelyn's room he glanced around. Evelyn was tied to a chair a bag over her head. She had a gag in her mouth, Sherlock noted, for her cries were muffled. Sherlock did not care for the woman, but he did not want her dead. Well it was a thought anyway if she ever got close to John again. Sherlock heard a shuffle and turned around. He stood face to face in front of a hooded figure, the eyes boring into Sherlock's gray-blue. With a twisted smile the figure dealt the detective a blow. Sherlock's world turned black as he slowly fell down onto the carpeted floor. The killer stared at the fallen Sherlock. It murderer had never seen the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes just had read about in in the London papers. He was beautiful. Perfect flawless skin, dark curly hair. Those eyes. The killer shivered. Grabbing a chair, setting it next to the frightened woman, it hoisted the man onto it, securing Sherlock's hands behind with a set of handcuffs. Turning its attention to the woman, the killer pulled out a black bag from underneath the bed. The figure pulled out his set of tools and chose a sharp blade. The intruder looked up as Sherlock stirred.

"Awake already? Your going to love the show pretty boy! Don't worry about shouting for help, the walls are soundproof. The Hotel thinks the woman is out for tea and I am just the bellboy," hissed the killer, holding up the knife. The sunlight reflected of the blade, causing the detective's eyes to water.

"Are you going to kill me?" smirked Sherlock as the killer rotated the knife around and around. Sherlock felt his heart beat faster with anticipation, and exhilaration. He had finally come face to face with the clown dressing killer. It was a man known as Henry Wickens. He was tall, tanned skin with flaming red hair, and bright golden eyes. His hair fluffed out, almost like a clown, but there was nothing funny about him. His lips were turned up in a sneer, his eyes cold.

"No pretty, I am not going to kill you. You are far too precious! But I am going to kill this slut!" shouted the man, spittle flying from his mouth. The killer turned towards Evelyn. She was still wearing a light lavender purple night dress. Her arms were tied to the chair, a burlap bag over her head. Wickens twisted the knife, slashing across the woman's arms. A stifled scream escaped the hood. Sherlock hissed, and tried to move. His hands where handcuffed behind the chair. He couldn't really do much, except watch. And ask questions, questions that had been bugging him for a while now.

"Malkli and Powell," Sherlock looked at Wickins, satisfied when the killer stiffened at their names, " you must have done horrible pranks at the Academy to get thrown out." Henry Wickins turned slowly, his eyes a-bright with hate.

"You don't know anything do you. Well of course not. They destroyed all my files. Let me enlighten you. I was a genius! I got into that Academy like it was nothing. I meet Malkli and Powell, became friends or so I thought. I know what your thinking," cackled Henry as Sherlock opened his mouth. "How do I know this slut sitting here? She was a teacher at the Academy. Shocked? She is a lot older than she looks."

"You fell for her." Sherlock let the statement drop. When the killer didn't reply, Sherlock took that as conformation. "But Malkli got together with her, didn't he. Some secret affair in the London Academy."

The killer slashed another gash along Evelyn's arm. Sherlock winced.

"Yes. But it wasn't enough for her. She enticed James and Jimmy. They betrayed me! She wouldn't even look my way. I was just the kid who had no wealth no power. "

"So you wanted to kill them for having an affair? How utterly boring. Here I am risking my life thinking it would have been more..." Sherlock snapped quiet as the killer leaped towards him, the knife pressing against his lips.

"I am not done the story my beauty," snarled Henry as he looked up and down Sherlock's form. He ran a tongue over his lips. Sherlock felt his stomach churn.

"I had been hearing rumours around the Academy that people despised me. I was not rich, so I was considered an outcast. I thought Powell and Malkli were different. But nooooo how wrong was I! One night I get a call to come to their room, saying they want to study. I went, being the good little friend that I was. Where they there for studying? Noooo. We had a few drinks, they drugged me. By the time I woke up," the killer spat, his eyes reliving his past, " I was naked. Sitting in front of me was the whore. James and Jimmy where there as well..." Henry turned to look at the woman, though not really seeing her. He was reliving his past, his mind drawn back. Sherlock tried to pry into his pocket. Managing, he searched for anything that might try and help him with this predicament. Henry completely absorbed in his story continued.

"The slut was looking at me. She called me the Academy clown, my hair made her laugh. It made everyone laugh. As I lay there helpless, she ordered the boys to rape me. They took turns, following the bitches orders like puppies! She sat there, smiling. I tried to bring it to the Academy's headmaster. What did I get for accusing the sponsoring families? I got thrown out and sent to a specialized institute! And now..tada! Here I am."

Sherlock found his cell, at the bottom of his pocket. He tried reaching for it, but his hands were pulled away.

"What are we searing for hmmm?" Henry's eyes glowed. He reached in Sherlock's jacket, his fingers brushing against his thighs. Wickins smiled as Sherlock tried to move away. The killers hand's moved closer to Sherlock's hips, towards his inner thighs.

"Ah sensitive there are we love?" Henry grinned. His golden eyes flashed. He grasped the phone Sherlock had in his pocket. The killer grinned and threw the cell to one side of the room.

"Its only logical that it would be sensitive. I don't have murderers touching me on a day to day basis."

"Whooooo!" Wickens laughed, the sneer still lingering on his lips. He reached out to Sherlock who recoiled as much as he could, being handcuffed to a chair. Slowly Henry unbuttoned the jacket, relishing the revealing shirt underneath. With a chuckle the killer licked at the detective's chest. Sherlock hissed as the man's tongue ran along his collar bone. He felt the killers hand reach down towards his pants. Henry still had the knife which he pressed against Sherlock's cheek, smearing it with Evelyn's blood.

"I thought women are your area Wickins," Sherlock murmured, very much aware of how the blade was pressing against his flesh. The other man cackled. Sherlock gasped in pain as the man grabbed him forcefully between his legs.

"After what happened in the Academy, my area of interest has broadened. I have read about you, in the papers. I have always wondered what it would be like to meet the great Sherlock Holmes. You are a very very beautiful specimen. I would love to pound you, but duty calls. But don't worry we have all day." Letting his hand slide from Sherlock's manhood up back onto the detectives chest, Wickins bit into Sherlock's neck. Leaving the infuriated and disgruntled Sherlock, Henry walked back over to his intended victim. He brought his hand down across her face so hard that she fell over with a thud. Henry forced her back up and began slashing at her arms. She screamed, the sounds muffled by the gag. Henry pulled off the hood.

"I want you to look at me when you die you whore! I have suffered through hell because of you. I am going to kill you nice and slow and then slit your throat!"

"I would rather you inject her," Sherlock suggested suddenly. The killer turned, his eyes wide.

"You would have me kill her by injection? She deserves far worse."

"I bet she does, after all leading you on and getting you raped, ruining your life, taking everything away," Sherlock smirked. He had Henry's attention. Good. Evelyn's eyes panicked, Sherlock inclined his head slightly, and shook his head. He had a plan.

"You have created an image of yourself to the entire city of London. You have killed your victims by potassium chloride injections, so if you decided to kill the woman by slashing her throat, someone might think it was done by someone else. Your alibi wouldn't be the same, someone else would take all the glory." Henry nodded as if agreeing. But then a knock on the door caused all three persons to jump. Henry looked startled, but calmed himself down. He went over to the door and hit the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hi this is Jim Person. I heard you needed room service?"

"I believe you have the wrong room, I did not order room service."

"Sorry for troubling you. Thank you for your time."

Sherlock almost smiled. It was John. It was a code name John had suggested to use in case of dangerous situations. But the detective's elation at having John find them, instantly died down, hoping John had not come alone.

John stared at the locked door. It was defiantly a man's voice that had answered through the door. John had tried to call Sherlock a few times before but no answer. He felt his heart fall down to the floor. Sherlock must be in there, with the killer. Quickly dialing Lestrade, he informed them of the situation. He tried to remain calm but every muscle was crying out to save Sherlock. His Sherlock. Hanging up his phone, he took a few deep breathes. The police would arrive in ten minutes, which could potentially be ten minutes too late. He needed to think of something fast. _I wish I had my gun so I could blow that bastards face right off_ thought John as he ran back down to the lobby. He needed a spare key to get into the room. He just had to convince the receptionist that there was a murder in progress happening in their Hotel. He would think of something after he had managed to get inside the room.

Sherlock flexed his arms. They were starting to cramp. He would be able to race for the door, but the murderer was fast and carried a weapon. It did not help that Evelyn was helpless and was losing blood fast. Henry turned his attention back to Evelyn. He walked over to the black bag that was lying on the floor. He pulled out a long, evil looking needle filled with the fatal poison. He walked over to the woman and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. He jabbed it in, smiling a toothy grin as he watched her eyes roll back, tears streaming down her face. As he injected the poison with one hand, he etched the number 3 onto her forehead. Finished, the killer threw her back. She landed on the floor with a crash, sobbing, trying to get rid of the gag. Throwing the needle in the bathroom, Wickins turned his attention back to Sherlock.

"Now that is taken care of it will take the bitch half an hour to die. Perfect timing since I want to take care of this," Wickins hissed, his eyes narrowing, his hair appearing to be wild flames around his tan features. He gestured at his erection showing through his tight black pants. Sherlock felt panic wash over him. Wickens sauntered over, the blade wet with fresh blood. Licking his lips he ran the blade across Sherlock's neck.

"You look perfectly delicious all covered in blood. It matches you so perfectly," whispered Henry, his tongue running along Sherlock's Adam's apple. Sherlock swallowed. With a swift, accurate kick he collided with Henry's erection. The man howled in pained. Cursing he fell to the floor. Sherlock leaped up and backed up away from the killer. Gasping in pain, Henry manage to stand.

"Oh I will thrust into you so hard that you'll be begging me to stop. I knew I should have secured you to the chair," spat Henry his eyes wild with lusty anger. He twisted his knife in his hand and stalked towards Sherlock. The detective's mind was whirling. It had been around five to six minutes after John had spoken through the intercom. If if took the police ten minutes, the should be here in approximately six more minutes if traffic was in their favor , if John had called the police right after the killer ended the conversation through the door. If this played out then Evelyn should have a chance for survival, if they managed to get her to a hospital on time. Sherlock continued to back back away from Henry and the sinister blade. He had to come up with a plan fast or Evelyn would die, and he would be at this twisted killer's mercy. His back hit window and he had nowhere to run.


	7. Chapter 7

His back hit window and he had nowhere to run.

Henry pushed himself up against Sherlock, his breathing accelerating, his eyes taking in the detective's body. Sherlock tried to move to the right, but Henry's arm snaked by, stopping him. The blade pressed against Sherlock's throat. Motionless, Sherlock let out a shuddering breath.

"That's much better Holmes, sooo much better. I like it when they behave." The killer's free arm began moving towards the pajama pants.

"I do not want your disgusting hands anywhere near me," hissed Sherlock. That earned him a slap that sent his head spinning.

"We can do this two ways. I can bang you without any fuss or you can struggle and make it exciting. We know how you like excitement!" Henry lowered his knife, slicing easily through Sherlock's white shirt. Henry hissed, his eyes drinking in the sight. Sherlock's lithe body shone pale in the sun, blood smeared across his chest from the blade. Sherlock turned his head away. And noticed that the handle of the door was trying to turn. A key trying to open the door. _John_. That was Sherlock's initial thought. Sherlock turned his head towards the killer._ Keep him occupied_. Sherlock groaned as Henry grabbed at his manhood. The killer smiled, his eyes boring into Sherlock's.

"You never told me why you dress your victims in those rubbish clown costumes." Sherlock kept the killer's gaze. Cold gray-blue met with fiery gold.

"Excellent question Holmes!" Henry reached his hand down the front of the detectives pants, " At the Academy I was known as Henry the clown. It was humiliating. So I figured that my victims should be humiliated in the same way I was, though in a more fashionable sense. Genius isn't it. Black and White is so trendy these days!" Sherlock sucked in his breath as the killer fondled his cock, his gloved hands pinching.

"If I were to make an assumption, I would assume you are a virgin!" mocked Wickins.

"I suppose that's a logical way to look at it. I never..ah...had the time...nor the desire...mmm...to...engage in sexual congress." Sherlock gritted his teeth. His eyes flickered for a brief second and saw the door open.

"I believe we have company." Sherlock brought his knee up into the killer's groin for a second time as the door flew open. Lestrade, Cas, and John burst in along with police officials, guns pointed at the screaming Henry Wickins.

John took one look at Sherlock. He turned white as a sheet, roared and charged the fallen man. With lightning fast reflexes the Doctor dealt a wicked blow to Henry's face. The man crumpled on the floor. John punched him again and again, until Lestrade and Cas had to drag him away. John's heart was screaming. His mind had turned red as he had looked at Sherlock. His clothing had been cut, blood had adorned his chest and face. John had nearly passed out thinking that it was his flatmates blood. He had charged the man without thinking. He struggled as Lestrade and Cas held him firm. Sherlock was ushered over by the police, who had now arrested the groaning man. They dragged him out of the Hotel room, as a team rushed over to Evelyn's side. The woman was almost unconscious. They had to rush her as quickly as possible, if they wanted to save her life.

"Glad you decided to make it John." John stared speechless at the disheveled Sherlock Holmes. Before anyone could have done or said anything. John brought his hand across Sherlock's face.

"DO YOU EVER THINK ANYTHING THROUGH? DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED I WAS? NO, BECAUSE YOU DON'T THINK!" John was shouting, his lungs ready to burst.

"Ow, I believe you should speak in a lower register John, my ears are ringing."

"I SHOULD SPEAK IN A LOWER REGISTER? I THOUGHT YOU COULD HAVE DIED!"

"John, I think Sherlock needs some-" Cas looked at John but shut up as quickly as he had started.

"WHAT SHERLOCK NEEDS IS SOME COMMON SENSE KNOCKED INTO HIM! HE NEEDS TO THINK BEFORE RUSHING INTO DANGER!" John was huffing now, his face crimson with rage. Sherlock was staring at John, with an astonished look on his face. He had never seen John yell at anyone before. John glared at his flatmate and left the room in a huff.

"Sherlock we need to go. We have Henry Wickins under arrest. Thanks to John we managed to get here on time. He tried to tell the Hotel clerks that there was a murder happening in one of their rooms. They refused to allow him a spare key thinking he was a mad man, until we showed up. You should have see the look on his face when we showed up." Lestrade gave Sherlock a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. Sherlock accepted it without a word, following the Inspector and Cas out the door.

"John."

John stared at his laptop, writing his blog. He was still so furious with Sherlock that he had refused to speak with him upon arriving back into 221B. He had named the case "Town Clown Killer" much to Sherlock's distaste, though he didn't care at this point. He wrote as if trying to erase every scene in which Sherlock appeared before him covered with blood. The Lady Evelyn had barely survived, though it might have been better to die. She had suffered massive blood loss, trauma and she would have permanent scarring upon her arms. The surgeons stated they could try and do something about her face, though they were not to sure. The blade had done its job well.

"John Watson. As a fellow..human being...I want to...thank you and apologize for my actions." Sherlock coughed slightly. John glared at him, his eyes narrowing. This was a first for Sherlock. He had never apologized to anyone. Sherlock twirled his thumbs, standing near the Doctor.

"Well coming from you that must mean something." John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock winced at the anger in his flatmates voice.

"Well seeing as how I never apologize to anyone, I mean_ anyone_, this apology is only logical to say to someone who I truly care about.." Sherlock let his voice trail off seeing the look in John's dark eyes. John closed his laptop. Sherlock felt his heart beat faster, there was something in John's eyes, that caused a flame to burn deep within the detective's abdomen.

"So I just wanted to say I am sorry." Sherlock turned to leave. John rose and grabbed his arm before Sherlock could escape to the kitchen.

"Are you telling me that you feel for me..." muttered John. Sherlock shivered. John's voice had deepened a few octaves, his eyes peering into Sherlock's face. Sherlock felt his ears go red.

"Why would I say something if I do not mean it? Now if you'll excuse me," Sherlock tried to move, but John held on tight.

"Explain."

"I do not understand..."Sherlock averted his eyes. His stomach leaped at John's hand reached and cupped his face, turning his face so that the detective could stare into John's own.

"Tell me what kind of _feeling_ you mean," John muttered his voice husky. After what had happened earlier in the day, John didn't want to wait any longer. He wanted to know what Sherlock thought about him.

"In terms of feelings I could declare that there are extremely alien. Accelerated heart beat, blood flow to the face and lower regions of my body." Sherlock felt his face flame, very much aware that John was still holding his face.

"You want me..." John could barley contain himself. He felt himself stiffen, his erection becoming more prominent.

"Yes. However I do not want to be a problem for you, John." Sherlock turned his head, out of John's hand, his stomach sinking, remembering the other night.

"Sherlock. Look. ."

Sherlock turned his head, not knowing why John sounded so demanding, so... un-John like. Warm lips pressed against Sherlock's surprised mouth. A soft kiss that tasted of cinnamon and spice. It deepened into a hungry kiss that left Sherlock breathless. They pulled their heads apart, resting their foreheads against each other. Sherlock did not know what was happening to him. He could barley stand, let alone believe what had just happened. John was supporting most of the stunned man's weight as Sherlock tried to comprehend the strange turn of events.

"You are the most unique, stubborn,extraordinary, brilliant and most troublesome consulting detective I have ever met," John breathed, his hands holding Sherlock's rosy cheeks.

"The world's only consulting detective," muttered Sherlock. He turned his head up for another kiss. He liked kissing John. No. He was drowning in John's kisses. He had dreamed about how it would feel, and this was so much better.

"Your mine Sherlock. No one will ever touch you, ever."

Sherlock felt his heart almost stop. _Your mine_. Their lips tangled together, a frenzy of passion. John deepened the kiss, his hands trailing down towards the detective's hips. Sherlock almost broke the kiss in surprise. He felt his groin tighten, and he moaned. John took the chance to stick his tongue into Sherlock's parted lips. Sherlock gasped as John explored, his kisses sending lightning bolts throughout Sherlock's body. They broke apart for a few moments. Sherlock stared at John's erection that was struggling to escape. Sherlock didn't know where to go from here. He stared at John with a quizzical look on his handsome face. John drank in the site. Smiling he whispered in Sherlock's ear, relishing the redness appearing at the tips of Sherlock's ears.

"Come to bed..."

Sherlock shivered. He allowed himself to be led up the stairs into John's bedroom. He stood there, eyes watching John, extremely self conscious. Usually he didn't care what others thought about him. But with his flatmate, he was aware. John's eyes were piercing through him, causing butterflies to erupt from the pit of Sherlock's stomach. John closed the door. Unsure of what to do, Sherlock stood still, allowing John to cease the space between them. John again began kissing Sherlock, enjoying the soft full lips. Sherlock tried to imitate the newly learnt tongue craft. He noted with an internal smirk that it was the right think to do. John moaned in Sherlock's mouth, his hands, trailed Sherlock's hips to circle and cup his buttocks. John broke the kiss, ignoring Sherlock's protest. John pulled off his shirt, his muscles rippling in the lamplight. Now it was Sherlock's turn to stare.

John stood shirtless, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. His muscles were toned, as was expected of a soldier, his blond hair seemed ruffled, his eyes full of hunger. Sherlock allowed his eyes to travel down, stopping at the obvious bulge.

"Your..."Sherlock swallowed unsure. He had never been in a situation where he did not know what to do. He was frightened, but he didn't want to turn away. He couldn't. His body was screaming for John's kisses, his touch.

"Help me...Sherlock, touch me..." John said, never taking his eyes away from Sherlock's. Dark meet blue-gray. Sherlock took a tentative step forward. John took possession of Sherlock's lips. With his hands, John escorted Sherlock's long slender fingers down to his pants.

"Unbutton me." Sherlock grasped the button and slid it off the hook. John, his hands shaking slightly began to unbutton Sherlock's white dress shirt. Throwing the shirt to the floor, Sherlock stood half naked in front of his soon to be lover. His nipples tightened in the cool air, his breathing ragged, Sherlock slid his hands over John's shaft. John closed his eyes, his teeth clenching. Sherlock, concerned, let go.

"No, don't let go," groaned John.

"By the state of your face, you are suffering."

"I am holding back. I want to throw you over and enter you right this bloody second!" John took his own hand and grabbed his erection. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening.

"You do it like this..." John moved his hands back and forth, building a momentum. Sherlock watched, mesmerized by the site of John, _his_ John fondling himself. Sherlock took over, with a new found confidence. He liked the feel of John in his hand. He quickened his movement, his gazed focused on his partner. He wanted John to be pleasured.

"Enough." Sherlock looked confused.

"I just thought you told me not to-"

"It's your turn."

John kissed Sherlock deeply, his hands unzipping the detective's pants. Sherlock shivered. John began to trail kisses down his neck, his chest, his stomach. John tasted the salt from Sherlock's skin as he pulled the pants completely off the other man's body. He took in Sherlock's complete nakedness. Sherlock's erection. John sucked in a breath.

"Lay on the bed. Prop your self up using the pillows." The detective did as he was told, a bit hesitant. He didn't know what John planned to do, so he lay on the sheets and waited. John stood for a few moments, before crawling unto the bed. He stood over Sherlock, claiming a kiss. His hands grabbed Sherlock's erect cock and smiled as Sherlock almost bolted off the bed with pleasure.

"You really are a virgin," chuckled John, " but we are going to fix that." Sherlock loved the sound of John's husky voice. He whimpered as John quickened his movements of his hand.

"Ah, I am going to-" John looked at the cum that had appeared over his chest. Sherlock's face burned crimson.

"That was an unpredicted response...but it was the most...wonderful release to be quite specific." Sherlock relaxed his back into the sheets, thinking everything was over and done with.

"We haven't even started yet Sherlock."

_There was more?_ Thought Sherlock. He felt himself stiffen as John slid his hand down into his inner thigh, parting his legs. John took Sherlock in his mouth, his hands massaging his partners balls. Sherlock felt his hips hissed in pleasure and surprise as the hand moved from balls to his opening. A finger slide inside and Sherlock cried out in shock. John began moving his head, faster until Sherlock was thrusting uncontrollably inside John's mouth. John pulled back, taking out the finger from Sherlock, who moaned in displeasure. Using the pre-cum, John slid it over the opening. Sherlock grabbed hold of the sheets, his fingers entangling within the green bedding. John again inserted his finger, stretching the detective. He didn't want to tear Sherlock, or cause any damage. John was resting on one arm now, the other moving slowly. In and out. Gritting his teeth, trying to hold himself back, John inserted a second finger. Sherlock moaned, whether in pain or pleasure, John couldn't think straight. Cursing he took both fingers out.

"John!" Sherlock let out a protest, but shut his mouth as John took his cock and placed it over Sherlock's hole. He felt fear engulfed him. Did John think that was going to go through? Both men held their breaths, their body heat escalating. John with a curse, spread Sherlock's legs further apart and plunged. Sherlock cried out. His eyes watering, he felt John dive all the way to the hilt. With a grunt John began to move. His lover was so tight, so perfect. Sherlock lay on the bed, naked, moaning. John increased his speed, trying to find the detective's pleasure spot. And hit it. With a strangled cry Sherlock arked, his legs automatically wrapping around John, allowing him to plunge further in. John took Sherlock's lips in a kiss that left both men breathless. John, not being able to hold back much longer, quickened the already fast pace. He thrust as he never thrust-ed before and released his seed. Sherlock felt something spill in side of him. He lay sweaty and shaking as he also relieved himself of his seed. John collapsed on Sherlock who lay gasping for air. He entwined his slender fingers in John's hair, matching his breathing with his lover's. Sherlock closed his eyes and let sleep over take him.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun streamed through the small window. Birds chirped, car horns beeped, and the cold air tried to seep through any vulnerable cracks in the window sill. Sherlock Holmes had pulled up a chair and was watching the man sleep before him. His black mass of curls was rumpled, his blue-gray eyes intent as he watched the steady rise and fall of his lovers chest. John Watson muttered something incoherent and rolled on his side, his handsome face turned towards the detective. His blond hair, his full lips, his toned body...Sherlock shivered remembering the night he had shared. He sat, studious, his fingers tapping his lower lip. Lips that had kissed John. The detective got up off the the chair. He wanted more. Beside he had been watching John sleep for roughly an hour. Now he was bored. Smile playing upon his lips, Sherlock slid over to the bed. Sherlock wanted John to hold him, never let him go. After so long, he finally had John.

"John..." Sherlock brushed the hair from the man's forehead, his blue-gray eyes ravishing John's nakedness. Sherlock let the new sensations overwhelm him. _Only with John _he thought as he kissed his lover's lips. The detective felt a hunger rise, surprised the he could feel this way for anyone. _Only John_.

"Mmmm..." John turned over on his back. Sherlock frowned ever so slightly. A throbbing had started between his legs. He wanted John to touch him, fill him. Sherlock smirked as he threw his legs over and sat on the Doctors chest.

"Wha-" John's eyelids fluttered open. He opened his eyes and awoke to his lovers face. Sherlock leaned in for a kiss, John complied, closing in eyes, relishing the taste of his Sherlock. After they broke the kiss, John tried to rise, but Sherlock kept him pinned, his weight on his chest.

"Sherlock, I need to get up." Sherlock smiled a full drop dead gorgeous smile, that left John's mind blank.

"You will get up all right, technically speaking, down here." Sherlock stealthily slid his hands down his lover's chest and grabbed on to John's manhood. John groaned, feeling the cool hands clasp him tightly.

"Sherlock..ha...I don't know...I don't...mmmm!" Sherlock enjoyed watching John's expressions of pleasure. His eyes, were closed, his breath mingling with soft groans. Sherlock liked being in control, he relished it. He stoked John up and down, feeling the man thickening in his hand. He was a quick learner. He kissed his lovers neck, throat, and nipped his collarbone. Sherlock, hungry for John's kiss, trailed liquid fire back up to John's open mouth. John claimed the kiss, nibbling and biting. Waves of pleasure shook Sherlock's lithe frame. A purr rose from his throat. John tried to move, but Sherlock wouldn't allow it.

"Sherlock!" barked John, his eyes a fiery pit of lust. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, but no, he was having to much fun teasing John. He tightened his legs around his lovers waist and took his free hand, pinning Jon's arms above his head. John groaned in frustration as Sherlock released his erection.

"Don't stop. Bloody hell Sher-"

Sherlock smiled, reaching over to the side of the bed. He grabbed a tie that was lying near the bed side. He slid it through his pale fingers. Silk, red silk. He stared down at the man beneath him. Grinning he recaptured John's hands, quickly securing the man to the headboard. It was his turn to be in control. Sherlock tightly knotted the tie. John flexed his tied hands. Damn that was tight.

"You don't suppose you would elaborate on why you are doing this?" John moaned as Sherlock planted a kiss on the hollow of his throat.

" I am just conducting an experiment John. It is only logical that I would want to study the expressions upon your face as I entertain myself."

Sherlock began moving his head down, kissing John's muscled body. He smirked as John's hips bucked. Taking the man's cock into his mouth, Sherlock began to move, remembering how John had serviced him. He licked at the head, Butterflies swooped, hearing John's cry. Sucking firmly, Sherlock let his mind whirl. Oh he had plans. He would make John cry with want. Sherlock bit down slightly. John cried out again, his hips thrusting forward. Sherlock removed his mouth, and sat up suddenly. John, his eyes glazed, stared up at him in confusion and desire.

"I need ...inside...now..."John was moaning. Curse Sherlock. Why the hell did he have to tie his hands. The tie was digging in slightly, but the pain was further down. His cock pulsed, straining for release. If it weren't for the restraint, he would have turned Sherlock over and had his way.

"Patience is a virtue John, besides, I like the view." Those words almost undid him. A warm glow filled his heart, watching the gray-blue eyes sweep over him. Sherlock lifted his hips, and clasped John's manhood. With an intake of breath Sherlock lowered himself down. He whimpered slightly as his sore ass took in John's erection. He slid slowly in, hearing John's cursing. And then the door bell rang. Sherlock tore his gaze from John's face.

"No way in HELL are you-" John shouted as Sherlock detached himself from John.

"I will only be a minute. Besides, it will be humbling for you to stay there for a few minutes. Besides," Sherlock growled his eyes burning," I am just getting started." That shut John right up. His erection stood painfully up, his breathing raspy. Sherlock moved over to the closet and grabbed a robe. Sliding it over his thin pale beautiful body, Sherlock strode back to the bed and claimed John's lips.

"You are going to pay for this Sherlock." Sherlock smirked and stood out of the room, leaving John to his pleasurable suffering.

Inspector Lestrade and Cas stood out in the cold. They turned back towards the door, staring at a bed-headed Sherlock. Cas looked at his hair, his robe, and the bulge that lay hidden beneath the fabric.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Sherlock drawled, crossing his arms in front of him. Cas felt his chest constrict.

"Aren't you going to invite us in?" he asked, his voice thick. He couldn't believe the detective was standing, in a robe, in front of him.

"No. I am preoccupied at the moment. What is it that you have come to say and make it quick."

"We just wanted to inform you that the case has been solved, thanks to you, and that Malkli has deposited a generous sum into your bank account. Also there are a few more things I would like to discuss with you. But as it looks, its seems you are busy." Lestrade coughed, " but is John here, I need to go over a few things. It won't take long."

"John is...indisposed at the moment. He has found himself.._tied_ up with some important business. He won't be able to be in contact until later in the day." Sherlock tilted his head. Lestrade opened his mouth agape. The Inspector couldn't believe his ears. Cas just stared. John was tied up with some important business? Then it hit him. He chuckled, defeated.

"Finally got the one you wanted?" Cas asked. He felt his heart slightly breaking. Deep down he knew in his heart he didn't have a shot. Just seeing how the two men acted and worked, he knew that they were meant for just each other.

"I always get what I want."

Sherlock watched as the men departed. A deep calm washed over Sherlock. _I always get what I want_. He had won the most greatest game of all. John. Sherlock closed the door, and retreated up to the bedroom.

"Took you too bloody long!" John did not look happy. He was tied to the bed naked, his arms beginning to tingle. Sherlock breathed in John's scent. The hunger returned. Sherlock resumed his position above John.

"I want you to ride me...ride me as hard as you want." John's eyes lost the anger replacing them with full blown lust. He kissed Sherlock, his tongue searching for Sherlock's own. The kissed deepened. John tasted the salt, the sweetness. He broke off the kiss, moaning.

"I need to be in ."

Sherlock inclined his head. He remembered that he needed some type of lubricant. An idea came to him.

"Open your mouth John." Sherlock inserted two fingers into his lover's open mouth. John moaned, suckling them, coating them. Sherlock smirked. He retreated his fingers and watched with elation as John's eyes followed his hands, as they reached his opening. John shuddered as Sherlock inserted one finger then two into himself. Sherlock moaned. He moved his fingers in and out, slow and then fast, stretching himself for John. John watched fascinated. Here was the most egotistical, brilliant man fingering himself. Sherlock took out his slender fingers, grasped Jon's cock, and lowered himself down. Both men cried out at the pure sensations. Sherlock began to move. He was clumsy and new but this made it all the hotter for John. John thrust-ed his hips upwards. Sherlock was so tight. John completely forgetting that his arms were numb, surged in and out. Sherlock was afraid to close him eyes. He didn't want to forget the expressions that were displayed on his lover's face. He arched his back, feeling John's hot cock hit the prostrate. Pleasure surged through him like electricity. He half whimpered, half cried as he the climax consume him. John gritted his teeth, blood appearing on his lip. He surged forward with a single powerful movement and released himself inside of his lover. Sherlock gasped and felt himself release. Cum splattered across John's heaving chest. Sherlock slowly lifted himself off John. He could feel the warm liquid oozing out of him, trickling down his legs. He nested himself beside John, exhausted.

"Before you fall asleep, you mind untying me? I can't feel my arms..." Sherlock smiled into the crook of John's shoulders. John's voice was still husky but pleading. Sherlock rose from his lover's side and struggled to release the knot. John massaged his shoulders, his wrists covered in silk rash. He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock who had curled up in the covers, a smile upon his lips.

"Do you want me to make breakfast?" John rose, being careful not to bump the resting detective. Sherlock nodded. He felt so complete. He watched with lazy eyes as John threw on a pair of briefs. Black briefs that hugged him at his waist. Sherlock felt a purr of satisfaction in his throat. John threw on a pair of jeans and left his shirt on the floor. John looked amazing dressed in only a pair of jeans.

"I will make pancakes and set some coffee up. Refresh and then come down." John returned and planted a feathery kiss upon Sherlock's forehead.

"Coffee, black with two sugars." John smiled and left the room. Sherlock looked out at the window, breathing in John's scent. The sun shone brightly, and the familiar sounds of London echoed from the outside world. Sherlock closed his eyes, letting the sun's rays warm his body. He finally had what he had always dreamed, ever since the one and only man had walked through his office door. John. Sherlock smiled and drifted off into a light slumber, the smell of pancakes drifting up the stairs.


End file.
